


And Show You the Stars

by missbecky



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Arc Reactor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet night out for Steve and Tony nearly turns deadly when a tragic accident occurs. As they try to pick up the pieces, Steve is forced to confront some painful truths about the nature of their relationship and what the future holds for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The second half of this story (which is planned but not yet written) has been thoroughly Jossed by the Iron Man 3 trailer that was released today. I've decided I'm not going to let that change anything, but do please note that for the purposes of this story, Malibu is still in existence.
> 
> Technically speaking, this story follows the events of [I wanted to fix this (but couldn't stop from tearing it down)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/529127). However, you absolutely do not need to read that one in order to enjoy this one. Although I reference events from that first story from time to time, this one stands alone perfectly well on its own.
> 
> I very much hope I can update this in a timely manner. Feel free to poke me and call me names if I take too long with that.

Steve was lying in bed reading when Tony came rushing in, already talking up a storm. It was eleven o'clock, the time of night when most people went to sleep. For Tony, though, it was still bright and early. "Come on, up and at 'em, let's go, let's go."

"Where are we going?" Steve asked as he marked his place and set the book aside.

Tony grinned. "You'll see. Just meet me in the garage." He backpedaled out of the room, drumming a little on the doorframe as he went, then added, "Oh. And wear a sweater." Then he was gone.

"Okay," Steve said to the empty room.

****

Tony drove them out of the city in his shiny silver Aston Martin. He muttered under his breath about the traffic, and refused to answer any of Steve's questions. Although it was late October, he had not followed his own advice, and he was dressed in just a long-sleeved T-shirt. From time to time he leaned forward to peer out the windshield, craning his neck to look up at the sky.

"You're really not going to tell me what's going on," Steve said.

"Not yet," Tony said. They were finally starting to leave the city behind, and he relaxed a little as they were able to pick up more speed. "Just trust me. You're gonna love it." He pulled out into oncoming traffic in order to pass up a car that was in fact going the speed limit – which was apparently not fast enough for Tony. "I should've just flown us out to Malibu, this is so much easier out there, fewer lights and all, but by the time JARVIS reminded me, it was too late for that. So this will have to do."

Long since accustomed to Tony's seemingly non-sensical rambling, Steve just clutched what Clint had dubbed the "oh shit handle" on the car door. "Okay," he said. He knew the payoff would come later, when the reason for this mystery trip was revealed and Tony's words would make sense. He was willing to wait until then.

Despite his easy agreement – or maybe because of it, who knew? – Tony shot him an anxious look. "Seriously, are you okay with this? I don't want you to think I'm kidnapping you or anything. And this is definitely not me keeping secrets from you, okay? Well, I mean, it is, but it's only temporary and anyway it would ruin the surprise if I told you ahead of time. So, are we cool here?"

Steve didn't much care for the note of worry in Tony's voice as he all but begged to be forgiven for keeping something secret from him. It had been over a month since the near-disaster in Stamford, and their vow to never keep secrets from each other again. It bothered him that Tony was so determined to uphold his promise that he couldn't even let himself enjoy something that was supposed to be fun.

He didn't want to say anything, though. For an answer, he just put his hand on Tony's thigh. "We are more than okay," he said. "In fact, I kind of like the whole 'air of mystery' thing." He squeezed his hand, just once.

Tony jumped a little, then grinned. "Really?" He gave Steve a wink that was probably meant to be rakishly charming and a little lascivious, but instead just made him look silly.

"Really," Steve assured him. "Although I'd feel a lot better about it if you kept your eyes on the road."

"Oh." Tony gave the steering wheel a sharp nudge to the right, and the Aston Martin returned to their own lane.

Slowly Steve unclenched his death grip on the door handle and sat back in his seat. He still had no idea where they were going or why, but he was content to know that eventually his curiosity would be satisfied.

****

About an hour out from the city, Tony slowed down. He scanned their surroundings constantly now, obviously looking for something but not finding it. As Steve sat there and silently watched, he continued to make the occasional muttered comment about light and space. Once he even brought the car to a halt right in the middle of the road, just so he could lean forward and stare out the windshield. Fortunately at this late hour, there was no traffic on the suburban road, so they were in no danger of causing an accident.

At last Tony seemed to find what he wanted. He pulled the car over to the side of the road along a vacant lot. Across the street, two houses stood dark and silent, no lights shining in the windows. On either side of the lot, there were houses in various stages of new construction. The entire neighborhood was so new it didn't even have a sign yet.

"Okay," Tony said. "This looks good." He got out of the car.

Steve followed him out. "Where are we?"

Tony shrugged as he opened the trunk. "Who knows? Far enough away from the city, that's all I wanted. No light to interfere." He pulled out a dark, shapeless object, then a metal cooler.

Steve just stared. He recognized the first object now – a rolled-up blanket. "Did you… Are we having a picnic? At night?"

"No," Tony said immediately. He slammed the trunk shut. "Well, sort of. Maybe?"

Tony was good for grand gestures and heroic moments of self-sacrifice, but the little things often eluded him; no one could ever call him a romantic. Steve knew this and loved him for it anyway – which was why it moved him so much to see that blanket. "I think it's a great idea," he said, and meant every word.

"Do you like picnics?" Tony asked as he tossed the blanket over his shoulder. He leaned down to pick up the cooler. "At night?"

"I don't know," Steve said honestly. "I've never been on one before."

"Oh. Well, just you wait," Tony promised. He led the way into the vacant lot. Toward the rear of the property, he set the cooler down and spread out the blanket. He looked up, scanned the sky, then stretched out on his back on the blanket, lying at a slight diagonal. "Well? You coming?"

Bemused, Steve lay down beside him. "Do I get to know what this is about now?"

"Yes," Tony said. "You do." He pointed up at the sky. "Orion. You know it?"

"Sure," Steve said. He wasn't nearly as knowledgeable about astronomy as Tony or Thor, but he could identify a few constellations on sight – and that was one of them.

"Okay," Tony said. "Just keep watching."

They lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the night sky. Steve wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but he kept his eyes open and he remained alert.

Nearly five minutes passed in utter silence. Then without warning, a fiery line streaked across the sky. It remained in sight for about three seconds, then it burned out and vanished.

Tony's hand took hold of his. Their fingers intertwined. "Did you see?"

"Yeah," Steve said.

"It's the Orionid meteor shower," Tony said. "It happens at this time every year. Debris from Halley's Comet causes it. Some years--"

"Don't tell me the science," Steve said. "I just want to watch."

Tony's fingers squeezed his tight, but he fell silent.

The night wore on. It was chilly out, and Steve was glad he had worn a sweater. He worried for Tony, just in his T-shirt, but Tony didn't even seem to notice the weather. All his attention was for the stars above and those random silver streaks in the sky.

There was a half-moon tonight, and under its light Steve was able to turn his head and gaze at Tony. He smiled a little as he studied the well-known profile. Even now, after everyone knew they were together, Tony rarely spent the entire night with him, rising early to start his day's work. It wasn't often that Steve got this chance to just lie there with him, feeling the warmth of his body, content to just _be_.

Another meteor flashed across the sky. Tony said, "When I was a kid, Jarvis – the real one – used to wake me up in the middle of the night whenever there was a meteor shower, and we'd go out in the backyard and watch. It wasn't the best conditions there in the city, with all that light, but I didn't know that then. I thought it was so cool. It was kind of our little secret. After I was sent away to school we stopped doing it. But it was nice. While it lasted."

Steve pressed his hand. He understood now why Tony had been so excited to bring him out here. Tony didn't have very many good memories from his childhood, but here was one he could share, one he _wanted_ to share. It humbled Steve that of all the people in the world, he was the one Tony had chosen to share it with.

"I always wanted to go into space. Ask JARVIS. Very first time I took the suit out, I asked him about it, what we needed to do." He paused. "Never expected I'd get that wish quite the way I did, though."

Tony's experience with the Chitauri portal was not something they had really ever talked about. Steve was a little surprised he had even brought it up at all. "You'll go back there someday," he said.

"Of course I will," Tony said. He looked over at Steve, and smiled.

It was the most natural thing in the world to lean over and kiss him then. His lips were cool from the night air, but the rest of him was quite warm.

Tony apparently forgot all about the meteor shower; he reached for Steve, rolling onto his side toward him and kissing him back with fervor. "I'm glad you came with me tonight," he said.

"Not like you gave me much choice," Steve teased. He ran his hand down Tony's arm, then let it rest on his hip. "I seem to recall something about being kidnapped." He dug his fingers in in a quick goosing motion.

Tony yelped. "Hey! I resemble that remark." He grinned, then suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh. Wait a sec." He sat up.

"What?" Steve asked.

Tony moved over to the cooler, where it weighed down one corner of the blanket. "I almost forgot." He opened it up and reached inside.

"Hey you!" A voice rang out from the darkness, startling Steve badly. He had been so wrapped up in what Tony was doing that he hadn't even heard anyone approach. "Stop right there!"

Cautiously he stood up. "Okay," he said. The man who stood there was tall, but heavyset. He was dressed in a light-colored shirt and jeans. Moonlight glinted off the rifle in his hands. 

Steve raised his hands to show that he was not a threat. "It's okay." He was very aware of Tony kneeling behind him and off to one side; at this moment they were both in the line of fire, depending on where the rifleman might choose to aim.

"Don't move!" The man sounded scared, but determined. "I've called the police, and they're on their way. You guys aren't getting away this time."

"What are you talking about?" Tony shut the lid of the cooler with a snap and stood up. The champagne bottle in his hand caught the moonlight and reflected it.

The man with the rifle shouted in fright. In the stillness of the night, the gunshot was very loud.

Steve never forgot the sound of shattering glass and splintering metal that heralded the destruction of the arc reactor. Or the shocked, gasping noise Tony made as he staggered backward from the impact. He never forgot the alarmed cry the man with the rifle uttered as brilliant light stabbed the night, then went dark.

And he never forgot the way Tony fell.

"No!" The scream was wrenched from his throat. "Tony!" He threw himself over Tony's body, protecting him from further harm, the way he had once thrown himself on what he believed was a live grenade.

"Don't move!" cried the man with the gun, his voice high-pitched and shaky. A circle of light bobbed into life as he turned on a flashlight.

The scene that met Steve's eyes could have been taken straight from his nightmares. Tony lay flat on his back, his eyes wide with fear and pain. He was gasping for breath, his hands curled over the shattered remains of the arc reactor. Blood darkened his shirt where the broken pieces had been driven into his chest.

"Oh my God," Steve breathed. He turned to glare at the man holding the gun. "Call 911!"

The man looked like he was going to be sick. The barrel of the rifle sagged toward the ground. "Is that…who I think it is? And you're…?"

"Just get help!" Steve shouted. He grabbed two great handfuls of Tony's T-shirt and ripped it apart so he could see what he was dealing with.

"I didn't know," the other man said, his words rushing together. "We've had some thefts, graffiti. Punks! I saw the car and thought it was them. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"Do street thieves drive a million-dollar car?" Steve snapped. He turned away from the frightened homeowner and did not spare him another thought.

God. The arc reactor was in pieces, glass and metal everywhere. It was no longer giving off any light, although even as he stared in horror, a spark tried to light deep within the remains, far within Tony's chest. As the light sparked, Tony flinched and cried out, his hands spasming.

He could hear sirens now. But no ambulance, no police officer could help with this. Tony needed a new arc reactor before any other medical attention – without it, he would die. Every minute the reactor was not functioning was another minute when the shrapnel buried in his chest moved closer to his heart. If he did not get a replacement soon, he would go into cardiac arrest and die.

Steve slid his arms beneath Tony's shoulders and knees, then stood up. Tony cried out again at the abrupt movement. His eyes screwed up with pain, his hands scrabbled weakly at the ruin of the arc reactor; he nearly cut his fingers on the sharp edges, and Steve hissed at the sight, unable to stop him.

"I'm sorry," the other man said again, babbling in his panic. "I didn't know, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you. Oh my God, did I just kill Iron Man?"

"Not yet," Steve said curtly, and began walking toward their car.

"What can I do?" the man wailed. "Tell me what to do!"

"Open the door," Steve ordered. "It's not locked."

The man opened the passenger door, and Steve stooped down so he could place Tony in the seat. 

"Steve." Tony was extremely pale, his eyes ringed with white terror. "Steve."

"I'm here," he said. "It's going to be okay." He could feel panic wanting to clutch at him, threatening to turn his blood to ice and drag down his limbs. He did not dare stop moving, for to stop now would be to give in to the panic, to just freeze and do nothing while Tony died right in front of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," said the man who had shot Tony.

Steve ignored him. He hurried around the car and got in the driver's seat. He reached for the ignition, then stopped. "The keys. Tony, where are the keys?"

"My pocket," Tony gasped. "Steve. JARVIS…"

"I know," Steve said. It had taken them an hour to drive out here; he vowed it would not take that long to return. He wanted to get away from here though, before the police arrived and detained them both. Once they were underway, he would call JARVIS and explain the situation. If they were lucky, Thor would have arrived from Asgard while they had been out, and he could fly out to meet them, bringing a replacement arc reactor. If not, he could still warn the rest of the Avengers, and they could have things ready.

He found the keys in the front pocket of Tony's jeans. As he started the car, light flashed in the arc reactor's remains. Tony arched up with a pained cry, his eyes flying wide open. "God!"

"Hang on," Steve said grimly, and stomped on the accelerator.

He drove away from the vacant lot where the man with the rifle still stood there helplessly. In the rearview mirror, he saw flashing blue and red lights as the police arrived.

Overhead, a shooting star fell to the earth.


	2. Chapter 2

JARVIS's soothing tones helped Steve feel a little better. Not much, but a little. The AI knew right away what had happened when he called and said, "Tony's been shot." After all, there could only be one reason he was notifying JARVIS first, not a hospital.

"Dr. Banner is retrieving a replacement arc reactor," JARVIS informed him. "He is already on his way to the garage. I will send your location to his phone, so he can meet you."

"So I guess Thor's not there," he said.

"Unfortunately, no," JARVIS replied.

Bruce would be good enough, though. He was not a medical doctor, but he knew what to do in this situation. If anyone could, he could save Tony.

He put the phone down and glanced over at Tony. "It's gonna be okay," he said, trying like hell to make himself believe the words. The Aston Martin was capable of tremendous speed, and in his state of barely-controlled panic, he was driving far faster than he was used to. Every nervous glance he stole at Tony made him worry that he was about to hit something. "Bruce is on the way with a replacement."

Tony just nodded. His head was thrown back, hands clutching at the remains of the arc reactor. Each time it sparked, he gasped and flinched, and Steve realized sickly that it was shocking him with every fitful attempt to burst into life again.

"Just breathe," Steve said. He felt utterly useless. He clamped down on the steering wheel so hard it groaned in protest, and he had to forcibly uncurl his fingers. "You're going to be okay. Just breathe, Tony. Hang in there."

"Not goin' anywhere," Tony sighed. 

"You better not," Steve warned, because he could think of nothing else to say.

The road stretched out before them. He stepped harder on the accelerator, wanting to eat up the miles now while he still could, before they got into the city and traffic stopped them.

He tried to stay focused on the road, on just getting to the Avengers Tower. Against his will he could feel his mind wanting to go back to that moment under the stars, the sound of glass and metal breaking, the horribly slow way Tony had fallen.

He shook his head furiously. He could not let himself think of that. He had to remain calm. He couldn't give in to his fear. Not yet. Not until he had done his duty and brought Tony safely back to the Tower.

Light flashed as the arc reactor attempted to come to life. Like a signal in Morse code, over and over it stuttered, dark and then light and then dark again. Tony tried to ride it out, but before long he was almost thrashing in the passenger seat, crying out hoarsely with the pain.

And God, there was nothing Steve could do. He pressed harder on the accelerator, watching the needle jump as the Aston Martin sped up.

"Stop!" Tony cried, driven by pain and fear back to a place in time when there was no Steve, no Avengers, no light. "Stop, ah, stop! Please, God, stop!" 

Steve nearly drove off the road then. He had heard some of the details about Tony's captivity in Afghanistan, but here was something he had never known, never even guessed at. He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard against the helpless rage that burned in the back of his throat.

The light flashed again, then the arc reactor mercifully went dark. Tony slumped in his seat with a grateful whimper.

"Hold on," Steve pleaded, even though he wasn't sure if Tony could hear him just then, or if his mind was still trapped inside that cave. "Just hold on."

His phone rang. He looked down and saw that it was Bruce. He fumbled for it, almost swerved off the road, then got both phone and car under control. "Yeah."

"I'm on my way," Bruce said. "How far out are you?"

He honestly had no idea. They were making good time, but it still wasn't fast enough. "Twenty minutes?"

"Okay, listen. There's a park on Montgomery, you know it?" 

He thought back, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Pull in there. You'll probably get there first, but I should only be ten minutes behind you."

"Okay," he said. He envied Bruce's confidence and calm; he could hear the jagged note in his voice, and knew that panic was closer than he liked.

"How's he doing?" Bruce asked.

Steve glanced over at Tony. "Um, not good," he said. Tony was very still, both hands still curled over the destroyed arc reactor – or possibly holding the car battery that had sustained him during those first few weeks in the cave, depending on when he thought he was. The dim light within the car made it difficult to see the damage, but there was no hiding the way he fought for each breath, every inhale shaky and labored.

"Tell him to hang in there," Bruce said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Hurry," Steve whispered. 

****

As Bruce had predicted, they reached the park first. Steve pulled the Aston Martin into the nearest parking spot he could find, but left the engine on so the heater could continue to run. "Tony?"

"'m here," Tony mumbled. He did not open his eyes, but Steve was relieved that he had responded at all. He seemed to know where he was, too, which was a good sign. 

He reached out and clasped Tony's hand, wincing a little as the jagged edge of the arc reactor scraped at his knuckles. "Bruce is on the way. Just hold on."

Tony gripped his hand with surprising strength. His fingers were tacky with drying blood. "Okay."

"Hold on," Steve repeated fiercely, turning it into a command.

Tony started to speak, and the arc reactor sparked, light flaring briefly. He flinched and cried out softly, his face contorted with pain.

In that flash of light, Steve saw the blood dark and glistening on his chest, and he felt his own heart skip a beat. In his fear over the consequences of the damaged arc reactor, he had forgotten about the physical injuries Tony had sustained. It would be a terrible irony if this latest burst of shrapnel was what –

No. God, no. He refused to follow through with that line of thought. He was not going to lose Tony. That was simply not an option.

"Steve." Tony's voice was just a hoarse whisper. He was shaking all over. "Steve."

"I'm here," he said right away. He twisted in his seat so he could reach out with his other hand and stroke the backs of his fingers down Tony's cheek. "I'm right here."

The arc reactor flashed; Tony arched up with a pained groan. "God. Get it out. Please. Get it out."

Steve hesitated. Logically he knew there was no reason not to do it. The device was already in pieces, no longer doing its job. All it was doing now was hurting Tony. Still, he balked. "Are you sure?"

Light sparked within the reactor. Tony flinched hard, and Steve winced in sympathy. "Yes. God, yes. Do it. I can't…"

"Okay," Steve said. "Okay. Just stay calm. I'll do it."

Tony opened his eyes and looked at him then, and Steve saw how close he was to utter panic, to just reaching in the damaged socket and tearing out the ruined device, regardless of any further damage he might do to himself. The terror of losing the arc reactor coupled with the pain he could not escape had brought him to the breaking point – and it would not take much to push him completely over the edge.

Steve leaned in and kissed him, so gently. "It's going to be okay," he said.

Tony did not kiss him back. He just clung to Steve's hand and stared up at him, pleading silently with his eyes for Steve to make this right.

Steve took a deep breath. He reached for the arc reactor, and the white glow of headlights washed over the interior of the Aston Martin. He froze and looked up – then slumped in relief as he recognized the car pulling into the parking lot. "Bruce is here."

Carefully he untangled his hand from Tony's grip. "I'll be right back, I swear."

Tony nodded wearily, and let him go.

He got out of the car and met Bruce just as the other man was opening his door. "How is he?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know," Steve answered honestly. "Earlier I think he thought he was back in that cave. He was really out of it. He's close to losing it." A brittle laugh escaped him. "So am I."

Bruce shut his door with a slam. In one hand he held a box with the replacement arc reactor. If he was disappointed in Steve's answer, he did not show it. "There's a med evac chopper on the way. JARVIS said they were about ten minutes out."

"Good," Steve said.

Bruce opened the passenger door and leaned in. "Hey, Tony." He sounded perfectly calm and composed. Steve envied him that ability, and wished he could find it for himself.

Tony did not answer; he was having so much trouble breathing that speech was beyond him now. His eyes went right away though to the new arc reactor, and he stared at it with trembling yearning.

Bruce hesitated, then he looked up at Steve. "I got this," he said. "Why don't you keep an eye out for the chopper?"

Steve knew a dismissal when he heard one, but he also knew that Bruce was doing them both a favor. He did not want to watch as Bruce removed the remains of the broken arc reactor and installed the new one. And Tony would not want him to see it, either. This would not be an easy operation, nothing as simple as when Tony had done it himself atop the Avengers Tower the day of the Stamford incident. This would be bloody and painful, and it was nothing he wanted to witness.

So he stood in the parking lot at parade rest, his back to the Aston Martin. He closed his ears to the pained sounds Tony made, and the low murmur of Bruce's voice. He stared up at the sky and he watched for the helicopter. All he saw though, was another shooting star falling to earth. 

He ended up hearing the chopper first, just as Bruce spoke his name. He turned around and there was Bruce, backing away from the Aston Martin, his hands bloody. "I got the new one in there," he said, "but I'm not sure of the connection. The bullet damaged the socket wall. It's not a good fit anymore."

All of Steve's hopes threatened to come crashing down. "It's not working?" he asked anxiously.

"No, it is," Bruce reassured him. "I just don't know how long it'll last. It could be like a loose wire now; if he moves too much it'll stop working. Or maybe it'll be fine. I don't know. Only Tony can figure that out."

The beating of the chopper was louder now. There was no more time for fears and worries. Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly, working to erase the anxiety from his face. When he was reasonably confident that he looked normal, he leaned in the car and said, "Hey."

"Hey," Tony whispered. He was still shaking and far too pale, but his breathing was already less labored. 

Had Bruce not been there, Steve would have drawn him into a hug. He would have stood stolidly as Tony wrapped his arms about his waist and pressed his cheek to his stomach. He would have spread one hand across the nape of Tony's neck and rubbed his back with the other. "I love you," he would have said. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay." And Tony would have said, "I know."

Instead he just stood there slightly bent over, the better to lean inside the car. He said nothing, and neither did Tony. They just looked at each other.

Just before the helicopter landed in a blast of light and sound, Tony reached for his hand. Steve took it and held on tight.

****

Contrary to most people's expectations, Tony Stark was actually a model patient – once he was in the hospital. It was the getting him there part that was usually difficult. Fortunately this time around he had absolutely no say in the matter, so he went with a bare minimum of fuss.

Every moment that he could, Steve stayed right by his side. He knew he was getting in the way of the paramedics, but they were either too kind or too rushed to make him move aside. So he was able to walk alongside the stretcher as they carried Tony into the med evac helicopter.

"I'll be there when you wake up," he promised. "You'll see me."

Tony just stared at him over the oxygen mask they had given him; it had helped his breathing, but only a little. But he heard that promise, Steve was sure of it.

The chopper took off in a blast of wind and sound. Bent double, his arm up over his face to protect his eyes, Steve moved around the other side of the car, using it for some protection.

"Need a ride?" Bruce shouted above the roar.

Steve shook his head. The Aston Martin was one of only seventy-seven made in the entire world; leaving it out here untended all night was an open invitation for someone to steal it.

Already the noise of the chopper was receding, and they could speak in normal tones. "Okay," Bruce said. "We'll leave my car then." He smiled, the gesture soothing away the implied insult that he did not trust Steve to drive right now. "Besides, I've always wanted to drive something like this."

So Bruce took him to the hospital. Steve clasped his hands in his lap and deliberately did not look at the blood drying on his fingers. He kept his eyes on the road and did not think of the way Tony had staggered backward so gracelessly before beginning that agonizingly slow fall.

"How are you doing?" Bruce asked. "You holding up?"

There were far too many answers to that question, and none of them were anything Steve wanted to say out loud. Instead, to his mild surprise, he heard himself say, "We left the cooler."

"Um, you had a cooler?" Bruce asked, somewhat bewildered by this apparent non sequitur.

"And the blanket," Steve said. He knew it was stupid, but now that he had recalled them, it bothered him immensely that they had left those things behind. He wondered if the champagne bottle was still lying in the grass where Tony had dropped it, or if the police had confiscated it as evidence.

"Were you guys having a picnic or something?" Bruce asked delicately.

"No," Steve said, because they hadn't been, not really.

"He just wanted to show me the stars."

******


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now fanart for this story! Please check out the absolutely _beautiful_ art [by Whippy](http://whipbogard.tumblr.com/post/34426470385/inspired-by-and-show-you-the-stars-by-missbecky).

Tony was in surgery for several hours, but it was still well before dawn when the doctor came out to see them.

They were gathered in a private waiting room, all of them except Thor. When he wasn't pacing back and forth, Clint sat sideways on the armrest of a long yellow couch, his feet propped up on the cushion. Bruce wandered around aimlessly, holding his glasses with one hand, giving all appearances of being lost in thought. Natasha sat very still on the couch opposite Clint, her gaze focused on a point in the middle distance only she could see.

Steve sat apart from them all in an armchair upholstered in the same ugly shade of yellow as the couch. From time to time one of the other Avengers would glance his way, and each time he pretended he did not notice. He did not want to see the sympathy in their eyes, or the anger. He did not want to hear them say that everything would be all right, or try to answer their questions about what had happened.

After the first hour, Pepper Potts-Hogan arrived, her hair unbrushed and her coat unbuttoned. Steve had no idea who had thought to call her; as soon as he saw her, he felt guilty that he had not done it. She looked around at them, everyone but Bruce so still they might have been carved from stone, and she took a deep breath. She sat on the couch between Natasha and Clint, clasped her hands in her lap, and settled down to wait.

The doctor who came out to meet them looked tired, but he seemed surprisingly unintimidated at facing a room full of superheroes. That alone was a point in his favor, and even though he knew it was stupid, Steve felt his hopes rise. Surely such a man would be a good enough surgeon to save Tony.

"I'm Dr. Mitchell," the man said, "and I'm sure you already know this, but Mr. Stark is most definitely deserving of his…other name." He smiled. "It's going to take some time, but barring any unforeseen complications, he should be just fine."

"Oh!" Pepper made a quiet little exclamation of relief.

"Yes!" Clint crowed.

Bruce put on his glasses and smiled.

Natasha nodded a little.

Steve closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

"We've repaired the physical damage. It's too soon to be certain, but as near as I can determine, Mr. Stark did not suffer cardiac arrest. However, I need someone to tell me about the arc reactor," Dr. Mitchell said. "This is nothing we've ever seen before. I need to know what we're dealing with here in order to give him the best recovery experience possible."

All eyes turned to Steve.

He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. Because what could he say? He could say that it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in all his life, part of the most amazing man he had ever known. He could say that it was the perfect metaphor for Tony Stark: beautiful, incomprehensible to most of the world, powerful, flashy – and terribly vulnerable. He could say all that and it would be true, but it would not be what the doctor needed him to say.

"I can help," Pepper said, saving him from embarrassing himself in front of them all.

Dr. Mitchell nodded. "Thank you."

Steve found his voice. "Can we see him?"

The doctor hesitated. "Mr. Stark is in recovery right now. Normally we don't allow visitors in there."

"Please," Steve said. He didn't command it as Captain America. He was just plain Steve Rogers then, worried about the person he loved most in the world. He had made a promise to Tony – to be there when Tony woke. He had already broken a promise to Tony once before, with disastrous results. He would not break this one.

He was ready to say more, if it was necessary. He was perfectly willing to plead, to pour out his heart, go down on one knee. And if none of that worked, he would use his strength instead, smash through whatever doors were closed to him, break the locks and push aside anyone who tried to stop him. He was going to see Tony now. That was not negotiable.

Maybe Dr. Mitchell saw something of that in his eyes. Or maybe he had been planning all along to bend the rules in this unique case. Either way, he nodded at Steve. "You can go in, but there are rules I expect you to follow. What Mr. Stark needs right now is complete rest. He's been through a very traumatic experience, and his body needs time to recover from that. If you think talking with him will upset him, then I strongly recommend you wait to see him until regular visiting hours, when he'll be ready for extended visits. Even then, I can only grant you fifteen minutes, and then you will have to leave right away."

Steve nodded, ready to agree to anything. "Okay. Yeah."

The doctor made a gesture to the hallway behind him. "Ms. Potts, would you please come with me?" He looked at Steve. "A nurse will be along shortly for you."

"Thank you," Steve said sincerely. "Thank you."

Pepper did not bother correcting the doctor about her married name. Silently she followed Dr. Mitchell out of the waiting room. As soon as they were gone, Clint was there, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "All right," he said, grinning.

Steve exhaled shakily. His entire body was tense, spoiling for a fight; he had been so certain Dr. Mitchell would deny him this chance to see Tony. He had to actively make himself relax. "Thanks guys," he said. "For staying here with me."

"Like we'd let you do this alone," Clint said.

"We're a team," Bruce murmured quietly.

Steve looked around at them, and felt some of the horrible fear he had been fighting off all night start to dissipate. The worst was over, he told himself. Tony had survived. He would be fine. It might take a while, but he would recover from this. And while he did, he would have the support of Steve and the rest of the Avengers, in whatever form he required.

For the first time that night, he let himself feel hopeful about what the future held.

"Captain Rogers?" An older woman stood in the doorway. She smiled at him. "Are you ready?"

He froze for just a moment, wondering if he really _was_ ready for this. At his side, Clint gave him another encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Go on, buddy," he said.

Steve squared his shoulders, just a soldier marching off to do his duty. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

The nurse led him into the recovery room. At the door she stopped him. "You can only stay fifteen minutes," she reminded him.

"Thank you," Steve said, and walked over to where they had wheeled Tony's bed.

Tony was still unconscious from the anesthesia. His chest was swathed in bandages, and he was hooked to several monitors, most of which seemed to lead to his heart. Even after surgery, though, he looked much better than he had in the car, and he was breathing easily.

Just seeing him made Steve's heart beat funny. Once again, he had come terribly close to losing Tony – and it never got any easier.

There were no chairs in this room, so as not to encourage the rare visitor to sit down and expect to be able to stay. Steve stood beside the bed and stroked Tony's hair. He did not speak; he had no words just then.

His fifteen minutes were nearly up when Tony twitched beneath his hand. His eyelids fluttered and slowly, laboriously, he opened his eyes.

It was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. "Hey," he said, beaming.

Tony's eyes swept closed again. He made a faint "Mmm," sound.

"Just rest," Steve told him. He threw a quick glance around the room, then decided that he didn't care which nurses might be watching. He leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to Tony's forehead. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"Steve," Tony mumbled.

"I'm here," Steve said. "I won't let you go."

"Don't let…" And he was out, already asleep again.

Almost immediately one of the nurses was there to bustle him out of the room. Steve did not protest. He just let her do her job, and returned to the waiting room.

He had expected to find the place empty, everyone else having returned to the Tower already. He was surprised to see Natasha sitting there, waiting on him. "How is he?"

"He's going to be okay," Steve said. It was the first time all night that he had said the words and truly believed it.

Natasha studied his face for a moment, looking to see if he was lying. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good," she said. "I want him to be healthy when I kick his ass for this."

Steve was startled into grinning at her. After the barely-restrained panic he had endured for most of the night, it felt amazingly good to smile again. "Good idea."

Natasha smiled back grimly. Since Stamford she occasionally permitted herself to reveal a protective streak regarding Steve and Tony. Of them all, she was the only one who knew just how close things had come that day, and how instrumental she herself had been in averting total disaster and inevitably, Civil War. It was her intervention too that had ultimately led Steve and Tony to reconcile the issues dividing them, and begin their relationship all over again. It was little wonder she felt protective toward them. As far as Steve was concerned, she had more than earned the right.

"I'll be back later," he said. "Visiting hours start at 9:00."

Natasha's smile widened, became more amused. "I can get you in earlier than that," she said.

Steve just chuckled. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She shrugged, lifting one shoulder. "Suit yourself."

"Ready to go?" Steve asked her.

Natasha nodded. "You're not going to want to go out the front door, though."

Steve paused in mid-stride. He sighed. "So it's made the news."

"Seems that way," Natasha said. "Clint called after he and Bruce left. He said it was a madhouse both here and at the Tower, with more of them arriving."

He grimaced. It was just a few weeks ago that the last of the post-Stamford media furor had died down. Now here they were again, hounded by people with microphones and cameras looking for the perfect sound bite.

"Don't worry," Natasha said. "I got this."

"Yeah?" He could not imagine her fielding the press, answering questions, ducking from the flashing bulbs and cameras, pushing her way through the crowd. She never dealt with the media; her role as assassin required her to maintain as much anonymity as possible. It spoke volumes about how much she cared that she was willing to do this for him.

"Yeah," she said lightly. "Just follow me."

Steve dropped his head, huffing a little with silent laughter. Of course. He should have known. She was not about to face the media. But neither was she going to let him do it.

Silently he followed her through the halls of the hospital. He would have wagered that she had never been here before this day, yet she moved with speed and confidence, always knowing where she was going – or at least giving off that impression. It was not long at all before he found himself stepping out through an unmarked employee exit and into a half-full parking lot.

After the stifling confines of the hospital, the chill morning air was a welcome relief. Steve took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said.

Natasha gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, what would have been a spontaneous hug from anyone else. "Sure thing," she said, and they both pretended not to notice the false heartiness in her voice.

"Bruce and Clint took Tony's car back," she said. She led the way toward a nondescript silver sedan. 

"Thanks," Steve said again. "All of you."

Natasha just looked at him, the tiniest furrow of puzzlement between her brows. "You know we got your back in this, right?"

He did. Of course he did. He could only blame his embarrassing lack of faith in her on his exhaustion. It had been one hell of a night.

"Let's go home," he said.

****

They eluded the press gathered at the Tower by the simple method of pulling into the parking garage from halfway down the block. Once he was inside, he managed to sneak up to his room without alerting anyone to his presence. He trusted Natasha to keep his secret, and he knew the others would not bother him any time soon.

It was almost six a.m. If he went to bed now he could grab a couple hours of sleep before he had to be back at the hospital. As tired as he was, though, sleep was not an option. 

He stood in the center of the room that was no longer just his alone. Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of Tony. Three tablets scattered throughout. Expensive sunglasses tossed haphazardly onto the dresser. A rock band T-shirt shoved halfway under the bed. His scent lingered here too, metal and solder and the shampoo he favored. If Steve closed his eyes, he could pretend that Tony was just in the workshop, that he would walk through that door at any second.

But Tony was not "just in the workshop." It would be days, if not weeks, before he could return to his normal routine. Steve had personally witnessed how quickly Tony recovered from having to change out the arc reactor, but this was far different. The last time Tony had been so close to dying, Obadiah Stane had been responsible, while Steve had existed only as a memory lost in time.

He walked over to the closet. He needed to get out of these clothes. He smelled of blood and the hospital. He reached up to unbutton his shirt and found himself transfixed by the sight of his hands. They were clean now – he had washed them at the hospital – but when he blinked he could still see the blood on his skin. Tony's blood.

A powerful shudder worked through him. Sudden rage made his hands curl into fists. He wasn't even sure who he was angry with: Tony, himself, the frightened homeowner who had made such a terrible mistake, or fate itself for allowing this to happen. Possibly all of them.

Any chance that he could sleep was thoroughly gone now. All he wanted then was to lash out at something – anything. His usual tactic of beating punching bags into sawdust would not satisfy him this time. He needed to go out running, pushing himself in the cool air, feet pounding the pavement, the world blurring past. He couldn't outrun what had happened, but he needed to at least try.

"Captain."

Startled, he looked up. "Thor. I didn't know you were back."

"I arrived only minutes ago," Thor said. He stood in the doorway to Steve's room, looking somber. "I heard what happened to Tony Stark, and I offer any help I can, or that of Asgard." A faint smile touched his mouth. "Within reason, of course."

Knowing Tony's penchant for asking for – or rather, demanding – the impossible, Steve couldn't help smiling back. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate that. I'm sure Tony will, too."

"You have a look about you," Thor said. "That of a warrior who is readying himself for battle."

"Yeah," he admitted ruefully. "Only problem is, I can't fight this enemy."

"No," Thor agreed. "May I offer myself in its stead?"

He blinked, not quite sure he understood what Thor was saying. "Um, you want to fight?"

"Do you not?" Thor responded.

He got it then, and he gave Thor a hard grin. "Hell yeah, I do."

They stayed down in the gym for hours, beating the crap out of each other. It felt amazingly good to swing his fists, to feel the jarring concussion of impact, to shake the sweat out of his eyes, shift his weight to the balls of his feet and dodge a blow aimed at his head. He felt alive, bursting with energy and purpose. Every time Thor slammed him to the mat, he nearly laughed aloud. By the time they called a halt, he couldn't even see the blood on his hands anymore.

Side by side they sat on the edge of the mat, drinking water and dripping sweat. "Thanks," Steve said. "I really did need that."

"When I was very young," Thor said, "it shamed me that I needed such a way to release my emotions. I believed – foolishly – that I needed to carry them all inside myself where no one could see. I have since learned otherwise."

Steve had to agree with that. "It definitely helps."

"The fear of losing our loved ones is never an easy one to conquer," Thor said. He stared blankly at the weight-lifting bench on the far side of the room. "I myself still struggle with it."

"Well," Steve said, "any time you need someone to help you with that, you know where to find me."

Thor looked over at him. "Thank you," he said gravely. "May I make a confession to you?"

"Sure," Steve said. He had never really talked this way with Thor before, one man to another. Fighter to fighter, yes. But this was new. 

"I was not completely honest with you when I suggested our little bout," Thor said. "I needed to release my passions as much as you did."

"Nothing wrong with that," Steve said. He hoped things were all right in Asgard. Loki had been awfully quiet for a while, and he suddenly worried that Thor's brooding attitude was a result of a change in that policy.

"I find myself musing on my Jane," Thor said. "I know I shall lose her eventually. I will have to watch her grow old and die, and I will know great pain then. Logic and reason tells me that I should end my relationship with her – and yet I cannot. I love her too much for that. So my head does battle with my heart, and I am caught in their midst, unsure which way to turn."

Steve didn't know what to say to that. He knew that Thor had lived for centuries, that he would continue to live long after the rest of them (except for possibly Bruce) had died and crumbled to dust. But he had never given it much thought before, what that kind of lifespan truly meant.

"Though I know not where our friendship shall stand when that day comes, may I ask a boon of you, Captain?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"It is my understanding that the elixir which gave you your strength and power has slowed your mortal aging process," Thor said.

Through the sudden roaring in his ears, Steve said faintly, "That's unproven."

"Indeed time itself will provide the proof," Thor said. "But if the theory is true and you are still alive when my Jane passes, I would very much like to visit with you, so that I may share her memory with someone who knew her. It is the greatest tribute I could offer her, to know that her memory is not lost, but that it lives on."

Speechless, Steve could only nod.

"My brother, I thank you," Thor said. He threw an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulled him into a jostling sort of embrace. "It lightens my heart to know I have a friend who will remain with me for a while."

Steve just nodded again.

Thor stood up. "I will not delay you any longer. I know you must make yourself ready to visit with Tony." He hesitated, then said, "I am glad we had this conversation." He walked out of the gym.

Steve remained where he was, on the floor. He could not have moved then if the Tower had suddenly burst into flames all around him. He was caught in the grip of something far beyond his ability to fight.

He had never thought about it before, never realized the cold, hard truth about his relationship with Tony. The twenty years separating their ages had never seemed to matter. But Thor had opened his eyes and forced him to see what had always been right there in front of him. He had just been too blind to see it.

There was always the chance that battle would take one of them prematurely, but even if that did not happen, the eventual end result would still be the same. Time would do what no other enemy could. He would live on, young far past his natural age. The same could not be said for Tony.

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought, in the end he was still going to lose Tony.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Steve arrived at the hospital, the story had gone global: billionaire Tony Stark had been shot in a terrible case of mistaken identity. The crowd gathered outside the Tower was larger than ever, but now it was composed of well-wishers and worried citizens in addition to the usual throng of the press.

"You doing okay, Cap?" Clint asked as they rode the elevator up.

"Yeah," he said, because there was really nothing else he _could_ say.

Clint looked somewhat abashed. "I'm supposed to tell you that Fury's been trying to get a hold of you, but you can always say you didn't hear me. Or something."

Steve just nodded. He already knew. According to his phone, he had missed four calls from Director Fury, two from Maria Hill, two from James Rhodes, one from Pepper, and ten from unknown callers.

"Captain Rogers?" The nurse who called his name was young and pretty. When he looked up at her, she flushed with what was either embarrassment or a crush. "Right this way."

Steve followed her silently as she led him to Tony's private room. She chattered on about herself for a little while, then said that if Steve ever needed anything, he should not hesitate to let her know. She smiled. "I have to say, I was a little worried about how I was going to handle the infamous Tony Stark, but so far he's been a model patient."

He just nodded. He didn't have the heart to tell her that Tony only behaved himself in the hospital so he could finagle an early release. He charmed every nurse and conned every doctor into thinking that he would be just fine, that he intended to follow their every word – and it worked every single time.

"Here we are," the nurse said. She smiled at him.

"Thank you," Steve said. 

He walked in, and even before he saw the heart monitors and the IVs and the oxygen cannula and all the other tubes and wires, before any of that, his eyes went straight to the silver hair at Tony's temples, and the ones in his beard. He couldn't help himself. Now that he knew what awaited him, he saw the signs of it everywhere – and he wondered how he could have been so blind for so long.

Then Tony was stirring, opening his eyes, and Steve forgot about everything else. The only thing that mattered right then was the way Tony looked at him, his eyes glazed with pain and drugs, but lucid for all that, seeing him where he still lingered in the doorway.

"Hi," Steve said. He could feel a stupid grin stretching his mouth, but he was powerless to do anything about it.

Tony smiled back, dopey, exhausted, beautiful even now. "So this happened," he said hoarsely.

Despite himself, Steve laughed. He walked over to the bed. "Apparently." He reached out to take Tony's hand, mindful of the way Tony's fingers were bandaged where he had cut himself on the sharp edges of the ruined arc reactor.

"Not exactly…what I had in mind," Tony murmured. Already he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"I figured as much," Steve said, going for gently reproving, lightly mocking, and concerned all in one.

Tony gave him another one of those tired smiles. "Can we just say…that I was drunk on the moment and, and that my judgment was impaired?"

"We can say that," Steve said. He brushed his thumb across Tony's knuckles. "Just as long as this is the only time we say it."

"I didn't see it," Tony said. He was fading fast, but he made an obvious effort to say it anyway. "I didn't know…he had a gun."

"I know," Steve said. There was no way Tony would have reacted so flippantly to a threat like that had he seen it in the first place. In the suit, of course yes. Just standing there, man to man, with Steve in between them? Never. "It wasn't your fault."

Tony sort of sighed at that, and let his eyes close. Within moments he was asleep again.

Their hands still clasped, Steve looked around for a chair. He might as well make himself comfortable. He wasn't going anywhere.

****

It wasn't until later in the day that Tony was able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. By then Pepper had visited twice, Colonel Rhodes had arrived and given Steve hell for ignoring his calls, the police had come and taken his statement, and each of the Avengers had taken a turn sitting with him.

Nonetheless, he was the only one there when Tony mumbled himself awake and said, "I need to get out of here."

Steve just stared at him. "You know, I didn't think that bullet clipped your skull, but I guess maybe it did."

Tony glowered at him. 

"That's the only explanation I can think of," Steve said, "for the exceedingly stupid thing you just said."

"You know, you're not very funny," Tony said. He shifted his weight delicately, wincing a little as he did so. Steve knew he would never admit to being in pain, nor would he reach for the morphine drip while there was anyone around to witness it. "Especially when you think you are."

"What I think," Steve said, "is that you're badly hurt and you hate to be here, and you know even _you_ can't charm your way quickly out of this one, and it's driving you crazy."

"Well, what _I_ think is that you might be right," Tony shot back, "but that still doesn't change the basic problem. I have to get out of here. I need to get to work."

"Tony, be reasonable. You know that's not going to happen," he said patiently. He had been sitting in the same hard chair all day, barely moving except to step back when the nurses came in to do their thing. He was willing to sit there all night, too, if the hospital staff would let him.

"Well, it has to," Tony said peevishly. "Because this right here," he waved in the general direction of his chest without actually touching anything, "is not going to last very long. And there's only one spare left."

Steve said nothing at first. So Tony knew the arc reactor currently in place was not a good fit. Either Bruce had told him, which seemed unlikely, or he had figured it out himself. "How long will it last?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Tony admitted. He glared at the monitors he was hooked up to. "But I can't take the chance that it goes out while I'm stuck here."

That thought was enough to nearly send Steve bolting for the Tower right then and there. Even here in the middle of a hospital, if the arc reactor gave out, nothing would be able to save Tony.

Instead he drew in a deep breath. "I'll have someone bring it."

"No! Christ, no." Tony gave him an irritable look. "I can't keep something like that around here. And you know it."

Sadly he did know it. After the recent media furor over the arc reactor tech, the world was more keen than ever to learn about it and its capabilities. If the hospital staff knew Tony had one here, it would only be a matter of time before someone let it slip, and the wrong kind of people found out.

"Then I'll stay here, and I'll hold onto it," Steve said.

"You can't stay here 24/7," Tony said.

"Watch me," Steve said grimly.

Tony stared at him for a long moment, then he sighed, only to catch himself with another wince. "I'm not going to get you to leave, am I?"

Steve took his hand. "You already know the answer to that."

Earlier while Tony slept, he had begun making arrangements with the hospital staff. He would not leave. Once again he had nearly lost Tony. The fear from last night was still too close. Combined with the terrible knowledge that he would in fact lose Tony for real one day, the thought of leaving him now for any length of time was simply unbearable.

He had to be here. He had to seize every chance, spend every single moment with Tony while he still could. Time was their enemy, and they were locked in a battle they were destined to lose.

But Steve was a fighter. He always had been. He always would be.

And he was not going to give Tony up without a fight.

****

Two days later, Tony said, "I have to go out to Malibu."

Steve looked up from the sketch he was currently doodling. "What? Why?"

"The collider's out there," Tony said. "I need it." The TV was on, but neither of them were watching it; it was just part of the background noise Tony's overactive brain required. He was sitting up today, the bed raised behind him. He was still wired to a heart monitor, but all the other tubes and lines had been removed earlier this morning. Already he was much stronger – and that much more impatient to be away from here.

"I'll go with you," Steve said. He had never been to the Malibu house. In the months after the Avengers' formation, Tony had gone back and forth between California and New York, seemingly at random. But once he and Steve had begun their relationship, he had remained in New York for good.

Given this unexpected opportunity to see a part of Tony's history, Steve leapt at the chance. He wanted to see where Tony had lived and worked for twenty years. He wanted to see the house where Tony had nearly fled after their break-up, needing the comfort of the familiar. The house where JARVIS had been created, where Iron Man had fully come to life, where Tony Stark had become so much more than what the rest of the world had expected from him.

"Good idea," Tony said with a smirk. "I'll need someone to do the heavy lifting."

Steve just smiled. "Well, I'm glad I can be of use to you."

"You'd be of more use to me if you went home," Tony said.

Steve said nothing. It had become something of a sore point between them, his refusal to leave the hospital. Day and night he remained here – with the staff's permission, of course. But he would not leave. He _could_ not leave. His eyes had been opened. Every minute he spent with Tony was precious. He was determined not to waste any of them.

He had had plenty of time to think these last few days, sitting here watching Tony sleep. Like Thor, he understood that logically it made a certain kind of sense to cut his ties now with Tony, to spare himself the pain of having to watch Tony grow old and die.

But doing that would gain him nothing. Whether he stood witness as a mere friend and teammate or as a lover, he would still have to watch it happen. Nor could he bear to give up the love he had found with Tony, and the happiness they shared. They had only just rediscovered each other after their terrible break-up before Stamford. He could not throw that away, could not let all that be for nothing.

"You're being released tomorrow morning," he said. "I'd think that would put you in a good mood."

"I promise I'll be all sunshine and smiles the moment this place is at my back," Tony grumbled. "Until then I reserve the right to bitch and moan all I want."

"Fair enough," Steve said. He stood up and set his drawing down on the chair.

"Furthermore, I think I'm entitled," Tony said loftily.

"I never said you weren't," Steve said. He approached the bed.

Tony eyed him. "In fact, I think I need some compensation for all this."

"I can see how that would be warranted," Steve said. He planted his right hand on the edge of the bed and leaned in.

"I demand my compensation," Tony said quietly.

"If you insist," Steve said, and kissed him.

Tony kissed him back hungrily, one hand reaching up to grab the back of his head and pull him in closer. "I do," he murmured against Steve's mouth. "I insist very strenuously."

"Dr. Mitchell said you should avoid strenuous behavior for at least a month," Steve said.

"I've heard that before," Tony said, and then his tongue was in Steve's mouth and there was no more talking.

****

Steve was present the next morning when Tony's release finally came through. Clint and Bruce were there, too, along with Pepper. There hadn't been this many people clustered together in one spot since that first night when they had all sat tense and nervous in the waiting room, desperate for word on whether Tony would live or die.

The mood today, though, was a far cry from that terrible night. Everyone was smiling, no one happier than Tony himself. "Sweet, sweet freedom. California, here I come."

Dr. Mitchell stopped halfway through signing the release. "Excuse me?"

"No no," Tony urged. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door, ready to bolt the instant he was officially set free. He flapped both hands in the doctor's direction. "Don't stop. H-E-L-L, you can do it, and whoa that was not a commentary on this place, I swear."

"Tony, just listen to your doctor," Pepper said, a faint note of warning in her voice. It was the kind of thing Steve had been saying for days, but naturally it carried more weight coming from her.

Dr. Mitchell did not look pleased. "You are not going to California, Mr. Stark."

"Uh, yeah, I kinda am," Tony said. He touched his chest lightly; he was dressed in jeans and a somewhat rumpled button-down shirt. "I got things there I need to do."

"Whatever they are, those things can wait," Dr. Mitchell said firmly. "You need to rest. Light duty only, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, but those things really can't wait," Tony said. "They're keeping-me-alive kind of things."

Dr. Mitchell gave Pepper a look. "I thought you said—"

"Look," Tony interrupted, "it's no big deal. I'll just fly out there and --"

"No!" Pepper and Bruce said it together.

"Are you out of your mind?" Clint said. "You can't take the suit all the way to California in your condition! And believe me, I'm not flying the Quinjet out to Buttfuck, Iowa to pick you up when you get that far and have to stop and ask for a ride."

Tony gave him a long look. "First of all, I know for a fact that you're never going near Iowa again for other, very personal reasons, so don't you try to pin that one on me. And second of all: fly?" He held out his arms and made a purring engine noise in the back of his throat. "You know, like most people do? On an airplane?"

Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling at the sight of Tony mimicking an airplane like a small child. This was one thing he was going to have to tease him about relentlessly later, he thought.

Once they understood Tony's intentions, the tension in the room dissolved, but Dr. Mitchell still did not look happy. He shook his head. "Absolutely not," he said. "Not for a few weeks at least."

Tony pursed his lips. "Not an option. This can't wait."

Very aware that Dr. Mitchell still had not finished signing the release form, Steve hurried to allay the man's concerns. "It's okay," he said. An idea had just occurred to him, something so wonderful and simple he wondered why he hadn't thought of it yesterday when Tony first mentioned going to California. "We'll drive."

Everyone turned to look at him, some with more astonishment than others. "Drive?" Clint asked.

"Sure," Steve said.

"Really?" Bruce said, doubt written all over his face.

"We'll take it slow," Steve said. "Make lots of stops along the way." It would be fine. Wouldn't it?

"Drive," Clint said. He seemed oddly hung up on that point. "As in, Captain America and Iron Man together on a road trip?"

Behind him, Pepper groaned out loud.

"Um, sure?" Steve said.

Tony made a jubilant fist-pump. "Yes!"


	5. Chapter 5

When Tony was nineteen, he had crashed his car and ended up in the emergency room. He had received seven stitches in his hand, a generous shot of painkillers, and from a tall blond nurse, some of the most mind-blowing sex he had ever had at that stage of his life. It was the first – and only – time he hadn't minded being in the hospital.

There really was no place like home, he thought as he walked slowly into his workshop. He spread his hands wide. "Hey kids, Daddy's home."

"It is good to see you again, sir," JARVIS replied. And though he couldn't see anything happening, he knew JARVIS was scanning his vitals, adding the results to the existing database and comparing them. The knowledge eased his mind considerably. It wasn't that he hadn't trusted the hospital staff to do right by him…but he hadn't. Funny how he trusted a single scan from JARVIS more than an entire hospital full of state-of-the-art technology and equipment.

Or maybe not so funny. Dummy and the other bots were rolling forward now, their arms rising and falling in their weird mechanical way of showing excitement. "All right, back off," he said, feigning irritation. "I didn't bring you anything. Just me, myself, and I."

"I speak for all of us when I say that is more than enough," JARVIS said.

"Oh stop it," Tony said, although he couldn't help preening – just a little. "You're going to give me a big head."

"I could never render assistance with that, sir," JARVIS said dryly, and Tony just laughed. Days of being fawned over by the hospital staff, all of them doing their utmost best to cater to his every wish – and within five minutes of being back home, his AI was puncturing holes in his ego, reminding him where exactly he ranked in the grand scheme of things.

"Yeah," he said with satisfaction. "It's good to be home."

It couldn't have come at a better time, too. He was tired and he hurt, and he was uncomfortably, annoyingly, reminded of the cave. It was like first learning to live with a hole in his chest, learning how to breathe, how to move – all the practical things he suddenly had to relearn, thanks to the painful pull and tug of the healing incisions from the surgery that had removed the shattered pieces of the arc reactor from his chest. He hated that.

Being here, in the workshop, helped. This was his true home, where he was the most comfortable. He might be happiest when he was with Steve, but here was where he felt _safe._

"So what have we got?" he asked. Carefully he hoisted himself onto a stool and looked around.

"Twelve new casings have been fabricated," JARVIS said. "The last one was finished this morning. Dummy performed most of the work on his own, and is quite proud of that."

"Atta boy," Tony said to Dummy. Then, "I'll be heading out to Malibu tomorrow with Steve."

"Is that a good idea, sir?" JARVIS asked.

"Don't you start," Tony warned. "And in fact I'll have you know that it is _not_ a good idea. It is an _excellent_ idea."

JARVIS did not reply to this, but he could just imagine all those ones and zeros doing the equivalent of a human rolling his eyes.

"Sir, Captain Rogers is on his way down."

"Of course he is," Tony said. He wasn't surprised that Steve had waited this long, either. He knew Steve had wanted to give him some time alone down here, a chance for some of the privacy he had sorely missed while stuck in the hospital. 

He spun around on his stool in time to see Steve step off the elevator and key in his passcode. It was a sight he had seen a hundred times before – and still it made him smile.

"Are you supposed to be working so soon?" Steve said as he walked in.

"Not really working," Tony said.

Steve nodded. He was looking delicious in a blue sweater that clung to his abs, and jeans that showcased his very fine rear end. He walked over to the gray couch, the one with the afghan that might have been crocheted by someone's grandmother, and sat down. "Well then, why don't you join me?"

"Why Steve Rogers." He widened his eyes in a gesture of perfect innocence. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Steve shook his head. "Not until your stitches are out."

Tony made a face, but slid off the stool anyway. "You're no fun."

Steve gave him an exasperated, but fond, smile. "You got out of the hospital all of an hour ago. And you want me to seduce you?"

"I always want you to seduce me," Tony said honestly. He sat down on the couch on the opposite end from Steve, pivoted so he was facing the far wall, then started to lean back.

Instantly Steve's hand was there beneath his shoulders, guiding him downward until he lay flat on his back, his head on the ripped blue pillow that had magically appeared on Steve's thigh. "Mmm," he said. "I could get used to this."

Steve smiled down at him. "I think that's the point."

Tony smiled back lazily. He raised his right hand to shoulder height, then captured Steve's fingers.

"You should sleep," Steve said.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, gazing up at him. "I should. Instead I think I'm just gonna enjoy the view I've got here while I'm lying on my human pillow."

Steve chuckled, jostling him slightly with the movement. "Okay."

That was the plan anyway. Before long, though, Tony was lightly dozing. Not really sleeping, no, because a part of his brain was aware of what was going on around him – but he couldn't be bothered to wake up enough to participate. He knew on one level that he hurt and he should take his pain meds, but he was too comfortable and sleepy to get up and actually do it.

He knew too when Bruce showed up, coming to check on them. "How is he?"

"Sleeping," Steve said, his voice just above a whisper, not wanting to wake him.

After a while, Bruce said, "So. You guys are really going to do this, drive all the way to California."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I think we are."

"Just be sure to take it easy," Bruce said.

"We will," Steve promised. His thumb began stroking the back of Tony's hand in a light, soothing circular motion.

"And try not to kill each other," Bruce said.

"What?" Steve sounded startled, but he quickly recovered. "We won't do that."

"Hmm," Bruce said. "You've never been on a road trip before, have you?"

"No," Steve said, and now he sounded just the slightest bit defensive. "Why?"

"You'll see," Bruce said, all ominous doom and gloom.

"It'll be fine," Steve said. "And it'll be fun."

"Sure it will," Bruce replied. "For the first three hours."

"It'll be fine," Steve said again, a little bit louder as he tried to make his point. "I want to do this. I'm looking forward to it."

"As long as you know what you're getting into," Bruce said.

"I do," Steve said.

Bruce said something in reply, but Tony didn't hear it. He was fast on his way to true sleep, and right now his muzzy thoughts were only for Steve. Beautiful, stubborn, loyal Steve, who always had his back, even in something as crazy as this. 

He would never stop being amazed that such an incredible man was on his side.

 _And thanks so much, Banner, for the vote of confidence._ How quickly everyone forgot that just three days ago he had been at death's door. All these worries about him getting up to hijinks and shenanigans, and he couldn't even if he wanted to. Which, to be honest, he was getting pissed off enough to start to want to, just to be juvenile and give them what they all seemed to expect.

And why did this have to be such a big deal anyway? Why was everyone acting like riding in a car with him was a fate worse than death? It was insulting, was what it was, even if it did have a ring of truth to it. Insulting, and he should say something, speak up in his defense…except that Steve's thumb was still rubbing those warm circles on his hand and he was comfortable and tired and even opening his eyes would take more effort now than he was willing to expend.

Ah, to hell with it.

Tony fell asleep.

****

When he woke up, he was alone on the couch. The crocheted afghan (and seriously, where had that thing come from, he really needed to ask Pepper) covered him from neck to toe. When he turned his head to the right, the first thing he saw was You standing there, a note clutched in his clawed hand.

_Making lunch. Be back soon._

He smiled a little at the sight, and reflexively started to stretch out, just a natural reaction from waking up from a sound sleep. Immediately he regretted it as the healing incisions from the surgery protested loudly and painfully. He drew in a sharp, hissing breath and froze, trying to get on top of the pain.

Damnit. Damnit it all to hell.

It took a while to get control of his traitorous body. Slowly, wincing with anticipation, he sat up. He tried to remember where he had carelessly dropped the little white bag containing all his prescriptions, but he honestly couldn't recall. In his eagerness to be home again, he had hurried through the Tower and come straight down here.

"JARVIS, retrace my steps from the moment of arrival." The AI could and did track the whereabouts of the energy signature given off by the heavy element buried deep within the arc reactor. "Where the hell did I put those?" he muttered.

A holographic image of the Tower appeared in mid-air. He watched as a little blue dot showed up in the parking garage, then swiftly ascended in the elevator. The dot got off on the main floor, went into the bedroom he still technically called his, detoured into the bathroom, went back into the bedroom—

"Stop." Crap. He had left the bag with all his pills in the bathroom. Well, he could ask Steve to bring it down when he returned to say lunch was ready. Until then, he was just going to have to deal with the pain. 

Situation normal, in other words.

"Make a note, JARVIS," he sighed. "It sucks to get old."

"I will add that note to the running total of times you have made that request," JARVIS replied. "And may I also add that Director Fury has just arrived at the Tower."

"What?" Tony was surprised. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times Fury had made the trip here. "What does he want?"

"I could not say, sir," JARVIS said. "He is alone, however."

Which could mean nothing. Or a lot of things. Tony wasn't sure which one he preferred. Since Stamford, he had only talked to Fury once. They had settled the prickly question of what to do about Senator Boynton (sadly, SHIELD had not followed through on his suggestion to castrate the slimy bastard), and Fury had come amazingly close to apologizing to him for letting him swing all those weeks when the media and the world had done their level best to tear him to pieces. Since then, though, he had barely exchanged two words with the man.

One thing was for certain: he could not let Fury see him like this.

Gritting his teeth, he rose from the couch. He walked slowly over to the closest workstation, moving in a smooth gliding motion that he had perfected years ago, a way of walking that kept his upper body as still as possible so to minimize any pain, while simultaneously deflecting attention away from his chest. He sat down on the stool and swiped randomly at the computer screen. "Pull up the last file we were working on." He couldn't even remember what it was.

He was just in time, too. Images of the Iron Man bootjets sprang into life all around him mere seconds before Fury appeared outside the workshop doors.

"Stark." Fury let himself in; he had no clue that it was only Tony's largesse that allowed his passcode to still function. He smelled of leather and outdoors. "You're looking…not well."

"Nice to see you too, Nick," Tony said. He gestured to the images hanging in the air beside his head. "What do you want? I'm busy."

"We need to know what you're planning to do next," Fury said.

Tony frowned. "Um, have lunch? Take a nap? Make a couple mix tapes for the drive?" 

"Are you pressing charges?" Fury asked, and Oh. _Oh._ Now he got it.

"No," he said. "Why would I?"

"Why?" Fury echoed, his tone an exaggerated question.

"I mean, I get why," Tony said with a quick, light gesture at his chest. "But _why?_ Yeah, I could bankrupt the poor guy and his descendants for the next three generations, but what would be the point? He made an honest mistake. Everyone needs to just get over it."

True words of wisdom – and for once he actually planned to follow his own advice. His memory of that night was spotty at best, although he knew from experience that eventually he would remember more of it, flashes of a moment rising up from the depths of his subconscious. What he _did_ remember was that he had wanted it to be a special night for both him and Steve, a shining night of promise under the stars, the first of so many more to come.

Steve didn't know that. Fury didn't know that. No one knew that. There had been nothing to signal his intentions, just that stupid bottle of champagne and the two fluted glasses tucked inside the cooler. He didn't even know where those things had ended up – and it didn't matter. What mattered now was putting the pieces of himself back together (literally) and moving on.

So, yeah. Get over it.

"Just like that," Fury said flatly, obviously still questioning him.

"Yeah," Tony said, more sharply than he had intended, but screw this. He was done discussing it. Plus he was pretty sure that Fury hadn't traveled all the way across Midtown just to ask him a question he could have asked far more easily over the phone. "Just like that."

The corner of Fury's mouth lifted in something that was almost a smile. "Congratulations, Stark. You may have finally joined the human race."

"Fuck off," Tony said wearily. "Why are you even here?"

In answer Fury just started strolling casually around, like he owned the place. Watching him put Tony on edge. _He_ was the only one supposed to walk around like that. Especially here.

Speaking in an equally eerie, casual tone, Fury said, "You know, if things had gone down differently, your dad would have been the head of SHIELD."

Tony just stared at him. "Is that…are you, like, trying to scare me? It's a Halloween thing, right?"

Fury meandered through the workshop, hands clasped in the small of his back, stopping occasionally to stare at one of Tony's unfinished projects before moving on again. "Not at all. Howard Stark was one of the founding members of SHIELD. If he hadn't been so focused on building better weapons, he would have had the job, no contest." He leaned down a little and pretended to study what was currently showing on a computer monitor, then said, "He never wanted you to be a part of it, though."

"That's--" And Tony stopped right there, because he wasn't quite sure what that was. Insulting? A relief? Maybe a little bit of both.

Fury stood up straight and looked at him. "He wanted you to find your own way."

"Right, by molding me from birth to take over the company," Tony snapped, and goddamnit he wasn't able to hide the bitterness as well as he thought.

"I wouldn't know about that," Fury said – lied – let's be honest. "But I do know that he asked me to watch out for you."

He didn't believe that for one second, but it was clear that Fury wasn't going to leave without saying his piece. On any other day Tony would have been perfectly willing to play his little game, but right now all he wanted was his pain meds, Steve, and a chance to get to work – he had a lot to do before tomorrow's trip. "So what's your point? Why are you telling me all this? Why did you even come out here? You hate coming here."

"My point is," Fury said, "I failed my friend once before. I'm not going to let it happen again." His single eye glared at Tony with all the force of two perfectly good ones.

"You know, I'm not really—" Tony began, and Fury cut him off.

"Your friend Rhodes wasn't the only one searching for you in that desert."

From the start, this whole encounter had been a little too surreal, and now it had just gone off the deep end. "Okay, you know what," Tony said, "I'm on some pretty strong drugs right now, so I'm just going to chalk this conversation up to that and say that this was all some terribly vivid hallucination. And you are going to leave. Right now."

Fury did indeed start to walk toward the door, although he did so at his own pace, making it abundantly clear that he was leaving only because he wanted to, not because he had been ordered out. "My point is, take care of yourself. We need you."

"Of course you do," Tony said automatically.

"SHIELD is making your hotel arrangements," Fury said as he continued to walk away. "We're working closely with Rogers on this one. We want you to keep a low profile." He tilted his head at a slight angle, the one that reminded his listener that he was a dangerous man and not to be crossed. "If that's even possible for the great Tony Stark, that is."

"You might be surprised," Tony said lightly, and oh he was good, he knew Fury had no clue how fucking pissed off he was right now.

"This once, I would like to be," Fury said. Just before the door, he stopped. He barely turned around, speaking over his shoulder without making eye contact. "Oh, and one more thing. If I read even one news story about you and Rogers doing something stupid and/or ill-advised; if I see even a _link_ to a You Tube video of the two of you acting like some idiot college kids on a road trip…I won't hesitate to drop you both. And _then_ I'll kick your asses. You got that?"

That was the last straw. "Loud and clear, boss," Tony fired back. And right then and there he decided that there was no way in hell he and Steve were driving across the country without making the news at least once – and preferably for a story that involved farm animals and copious amounts of alcohol.

Fury stood there for a moment, then he yanked open the workshop door and walked out.

Tony just sat there and resisted the urge to throw something at the door, or failing that, stick out his tongue.

He sighed. "I suppose that could have gone worse, but I don't see how."

"At least he did not threaten to Tase you," JARVIS offered.

And how sad was his life, that Tony had to concede that this was true.

****

One thing he had learned long ago was that the mirror never lied. It was one reason he avoided them whenever possible, preferring not to look himself in the eye.

This, though. This was not something that could be avoided.

Jaw clenched, hands balled into fists, Tony stared at the ruin of his chest. He hadn't exactly been male model material since Afghanistan, but this was borderline ridiculous. The stitches were nasty, but they would come out eventually. The scars they left behind, though – those would remain forever. At the center of the ugly mess of scar tissue, the arc reactor glowed blue-white. Although the light was steady, the device itself was off-center and slightly crooked, a poor fit in the damaged socket.

His entire life could be summed up by that image of his chest.

Unconsciously his upper lip lifted in a snarl, denouncing the man in the mirror. He hoped Steve had had the sense to ask SHIELD to book them double beds in their hotels.

"Hey." He looked up sharply as Steve walked into the bathroom.

For about half a second, Steve paused, taking in the situation. Then he kept coming, walking right up behind him. He wrapped his arms around Tony from behind, clasping his left wrist with his right hand. He hunched over a little and dropped his chin onto Tony's left shoulder.

Tony looked down. They had often stood this way before as they got ready for bed. Usually he liked to stare at Steve through the medium of the mirror and tease him with sultry promises of what they were about to do. But not tonight. Not with all his ugliness on display.

Steve did not speak. He pressed a soft kiss to Tony's shoulder. Then another, half an inch over. Another, and another, moving steadily up his neck. In spite of himself, Tony tilted his head to the right, giving Steve greater access, and he hated that, hated that he needed Steve's touch so badly that he took it even when he did not deserve it.

Steve's lips nuzzled at his ear, kissing the soft skin there. Another kiss on the nape of his neck, and another, just below his hair. "Mmm," Steve said quietly. "Your hair's getting long again." He paused and kissed Tony's neck again. "I like it."

"Steve." He could only muster enough strength to whisper it. He was aware that he was trembling, but could not say why.

"Come to bed," Steve said. "Lay with me. I've been so alone without you."

He was powerless to say no. Silently he let Steve take his hand and lead him from the bathroom. The bed was already turned down, waiting for them.

Without a word he climbed into bed. He lay stiff and silent as Steve turned off the light and crawled under the covers beside him.

Together they lay in the dark; even the arc reactor's light was dimmed beneath the thick comforter they shared. Steve did not kiss him again, or ask for anything. He just pressed close, offering warmth and comfort and shelter with just the touch of his skin and his mere presence.

And for now (thank you god), it was enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_The will to live came first._

_"Well then, this is a very important week for you."_

_One way or another, he was expected to die in a week. But he had never been big on following other people's schedules._

_"What do I do?" he asked._

_Yinsen looked at him kindly. "What_ can _you do?"_

_Even in a cave he could do an awful lot. He already knew how to miniaturize the arc reactor and make it work. He supposed he should thank his captors for that; it was their fun bit of torture that had given him the necessary insight for it._

_"They will see it."_

_"I know."_

_"They will want to know what it is."_

_"I know."_

_"What will you say?"_

_"That I need it to stay alive long enough to build their damn missile."_

_Yinsen's eyes were dark with sorrow. "That will not satisfy them."_

_Tony stared down at the light that was suddenly glowing in the center of his chest. This amazing thing that was keeping him alive. This thing that was about to bring him a lot of pain._

_"I know."_

****

He woke feeling more tired than when he had gone to bed. His chest hurt. The memory of Yinsen's kind eyes twisted deep inside him, worse than any knife cut.

_Don't waste your life._

_I'm working on it. I swear._

"Tony?"

He considered not opening his eyes, playing dead. But of course it was no good. Steve already knew he was awake.

"Mmm." He looked up, and there was Steve, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at him.

"Hi," Steve said.

"Harrk," Tony croaked. He scowled, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Hi."

Steve's eyes danced with amusement, although he managed to resist actually smiling. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

Tony thought about this, then said truthfully, "Like shit."

Steve frowned. "You know, we don't have to do this today," he said. "We can wait until you're ready."

"Oh," Tony said, pushing back the covers, "I'm ready now."

Well, how did that phrase go? _The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak._ That described him to a tee, flinching and hissing with pain as he sat up. He had to stop for a moment and catch his breath, and he hated that, he hated feeling this way, so weak and breakable. It was one thing to constantly know that his entire life revolved around the device embedded in his chest. It was another thing altogether to actually have to live out that knowledge.

Steve reached for him, and he twisted away. No. Damnit no. He was stronger than this. He was not going to let this stop him. He had survived open heart surgery in a cave with no anesthesia. He had learned to live with a giant hole in his chest. He was not going to let this bring him low. Not something like this.

"Tony." Steve said his name with mild reproach. And as always, it was just enough to send him into a frenzy of self-defense.

"It's fine," he said, pushing Steve's supportive arm away. "It's good. It's all good." He stood up and already he was putting on his public face, the armor he wore even here in his home, the suit he put on for the benefit of the rest of the world. Only Steve ever got to consistently see him without that armor, although on rare occasions he did take it off for Pepper and the other Avengers.

Steve got out of bed. "It's okay to wait," he said.

"No," Tony shot right back. "It is _not_ okay. This thing—" he gestured at his chest—"is going to fail. Maybe in ten days. Maybe in sixty days. Maybe tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to take that chance. My gambling days are over."

"There's still one spare," Steve reminded him.

"Right," Tony said. He could hear the tone of his voice, an almost angry prissiness, and he hated it, but he couldn't do anything about it. And frankly, he didn't care. "And that one's going to have the exact same problem. A problem that isn't going away. Not until I can repair the socket itself."

"You could do that here," Steve said.

It was hard to describe, the feeling that came over him then. It was a little bit like suffocation. Like the sensation of a trap drawing close around him. Or a black hood being dropped over his head, cutting him off from the light so he couldn't see where the next blow was coming from. He didn't understand why it felt that way. He just knew that he could not stay in New York. He had to get out of here.

"That won't solve things," he said, working hard to sound calm, like he wasn't strangely close to panic. "The repair is just half of it. I need to create more of the element, the heart of this…" And good God, he was actually starting to shake, just look at his hand, what the hell was wrong with him?

Steve, naturally, noticed. Because he always noticed things like that. "Tony? Are you okay?"

"Yes," he said, because he had to be. Any other option was unacceptable. _Stark men are made of iron, boy._ "Just…just get our stuff together and let's go. Okay?"

Steve did not look convinced.

"I'm fine!" Tony snapped. "I'm just…tired. That's all. I didn't sleep well."

Immediately Steve's skepticism dissolved into concern. "We should wait then, let you get some more rest." Then, just as Tony was on the verge of shouting his protest, he said, "Or I guess you could just sleep on the drive."

Tony shot Steve a brilliant smile. "That," he said, "is the plan." And it was amazing, the way he was already breathing easier now that it was clear the trip to Malibu would not be postponed.

He stepped into the bathroom. He shut the door and carefully avoided his reflection in the mirror. And he very deliberately did not let himself admit that there was something very wrong with him.

****

They finally got on the road around 10:00, later than both of them wanted. There were too many good-byes and last minute pieces of advice. Thor collared Steve and talked to him quite seriously for so long that Tony was ready to mount a rescue operation – and judging by the look on Steve's face, such a move would have been more than welcome. But at last everything was in the car and no one had anything else to say, and they got underway.

They were still in Midtown when Steve began fretting. "We're going to have to go later than I wanted, in order to make up some time."

A sudden horrible thought struck Tony. "You've got this whole thing planned out, don't you? Down to how many miles we travel a day."

Steve glanced at him, then looked back at the road. "Of course I do."

"You know where we're stopping. What roads we're taking. What hotels we're staying at. Where we're going to eat."

Steve nodded. "Yes."

Tony groaned. "Stop the car."

"What? Why?" Steve sounded alarmed.

"I want off this ride," he complained. "This is not what I signed up for."

"Well, how else did you want me to do it?" Steve said, just a touch of annoyance in his voice. "We had to make the hotel reservations in advance. That meant planning out the trip."

"Spontaneity," he said. "Look it up."

"Let me guess," Steve said. "I'll find your picture next to it."

"No," Tony sighed heavily. "Not anymore."

****

They headed west. Not in one of Tony's expensive cars, but a nondescript vehicle on loan from SHIELD. Big and silver and with plenty of trunk space. Also with a large back seat, room enough for both Steve's shield and the suitcase armor. On that point Tony had stood firm, and even Steve had known better than to argue. It would take them days to drive to California; he would not be separated from the suit for that long. He was under no illusions about his ability to actually use it, but at least it was there as a last resort option.

Steve said their goal for the day was Pittsburgh. Tony said nothing, and hoped his horror didn't show on his face.

God, Steve really _did_ have this entire trip planned out. It was depressing as hell.

"Look," Steve said, his eyes fixed firmly on the road. "I know you don't approve. But I spent a lot of time yesterday coming up with our itinerary. You're still hurt and I want to do this right. We need to keep a low profile as much as possible. Stay out of the media spotlight. I figured after everything recently, you'd appreciate that."

And that, Tony knew, was as close as they would ever come to discussing the way the press had savaged him for so long. Until Stamford, of course, when he had suddenly become America's hero all over again.

Now here he was, in the news yet again, and for what else? The damn arc reactor. Knowing his luck, it wouldn't be long before some too-clever reporter decided that the story of his accidental shooting made an excellent segue into the still-unresolved issue of whether he was deliberately withholding the arc reactor technology from the rest of the world. By the time they came back from California, the press would be probably gathered outside the Tower, reminding him that he never _had_ answered their questions or satisfied their curiosity.

Tony sighed in disgust.

Steve shot him a quick look, misinterpreting that sigh. "Okay. I know. You're right. I'm sorry. I should have asked where _you_ wanted to stay. But I thought…" He paused, looking contrite and worried and a little bit angry – all at once. "I thought this way I could maybe surprise you a little along the way."

"Don't," he said, because God, the last thing he needed right now was a patented Steve Rogers guilt trip. "I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?" Steve asked, brows drawing together.

"No," Tony said. He glared out at the passing traffic. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pissed off at the entire world right now. You just happen to be part of it. That's all."

"Oh," Steve said. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then said, "Would it help if I told you there was a thermos of coffee in the bag by your feet?"

Slowly Tony looked over at him. "As a matter of fact, it would," he said. "Also, now I _am_ pissed off at you. You could have told me that ten miles ago."

A slow smirk spread across Steve's face. "What, and miss your first hissy fit?"

Tony bristled with outrage, even as he slowly leaned down for the plastic grocery store bag that contained the promised coffee. "For your information, I do _not_ —" He hooked his fingers under the bag's handle, then stopped. Still bent over, he turned his head so he could look up at Steve. "Oh," he said in reluctant admiration. "You're good."

Still smirking, not taking his eyes off the road, Steve said, "I know."

Tony just grabbed the thermos and got to work.

****

With every mile, New York fell further behind them, and the tightness in Tony's chest loosened a little bit more. Not completely, of course, because that was just a way of life for him ever since Afghanistan, but enough that he could breathe easier. By the time they were free of the worst of the city traffic, his mood had lightened considerably.

"So," he said, "did you plan out our nights, too?"

"What?" In his astonishment, Steve jerked the steering wheel a little too hard to the left, and the car drifted toward the other lane. "It's too soon. You can't." He glanced over at Tony. "Can you?"

"You don't know until you try," Tony said with a grin.

Steve corrected their course, then glanced at him again. His hands tightened on the wheel. A faint flush of color rose in his cheeks.

Tony just laughed.

****

Around one o'clock Steve began to look for somewhere to pull over. They needed gas and he was hungry, but more to the point, he had noticed the way Tony was shifting restlessly in his seat.

He took his responsibilities as driver seriously. Most of his attention was for the road and the surrounding traffic, but at all times he was very aware of what Tony was doing. Stuck here behind the wheel, he was limited in what he could do, but he was determined to make this trip as easy as possible for Tony. Whatever was required. Money and time were no object. He would do whatever it took to ensure that Tony was not hurt any more than he already had been.

The imperative burned within him. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from asking Tony if he was okay or if there was anything Steve could do for him. Tony would only resent it and accuse him of being suffocating and overprotective. So he remained quiet, and contented himself with frequent, but brief, glances.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry. Clint had told him it was customary to break up long car drives like this by stopping at fast food joints, but that was the last thing Steve wanted to do. Yesterday Director Fury had ordered him to lay low and not draw attention to Tony or himself. Even under the best of circumstances, that would be a difficult task, given how recognizable they were. He did not want to get trapped by curious people in a McDonald's, their picture on the Internet even before they could place their order. (Not to mention, he hated McDonald's.) He would rather take their chances in a sit-down restaurant.

There were signs along the interstate that alerted drivers to which gas stations and restaurants were available off the next exit; Steve appreciated this thoughtfulness. A sign flashed past now that promised a restaurant with country cooking ("Country" was spelled with a K) located just .3 miles from the exit.

He put on his turn signal.

Without looking up from the tablet he was frowning over, Tony said, "Nope."

"But—" Steve started to say.

"Keep driving."

"We—"

"I swear to God I will jump out of this car."

Steve eased the turn signal off and kept driving.

****

After lunch (the place was called Red's Chili and was Tony-selected and Tony-approved), they continued west. Tony rummaged in a bag and produced a CD. "This should hold us for a while."

"No," Steve said. He held one hand protectively over the radio and the slot for the CD. "Let's just listen to the radio."

Tony looked aghast. "You mean…local color?"

Steve nodded. "That's exactly what I mean."

The expression of barely stifled horror on Tony's face would have been hilarious on any other day. "Turn the car around," he ordered. "I want to go home."

Steve shot him a look, turned the radio on, and pressed Seek.

For the next several minutes, a variety of music filled the car as the radio obediently played a few seconds from each station on the dial. Twice Steve thought he had found a good station and tried to stop the search, only to be cut off by a curt, "No."

The second time, when he stopped on the song with the Korean rap, he said, "What? I thought you liked this one."

Tony shuddered. "What? Hell no. Just because I keep current with pop culture – unlike some people in this car – doesn't mean that I approve."

Eventually they settled on a classic rock station. Half an hour later, Tony was asleep, tablet cradled in his lap, his head resting on the window.

Steve smiled fondly at the sight, and kept driving.

****

That night, under the cool blue light of the arc reactor, he sat up and watched Tony sleep.

He had survived his first day stuck in a car with Tony Stark. And it hadn't really been that bad. Of course, he wasn't fooled into thinking that the rest of the trip would be this easy. Today Tony had slept a lot, and when he _had_ been awake, lingering pain and weakness had kept him quiet. That wouldn't last though, and Steve knew it. Already he could see that Tony was feeling stronger; the bright charming smile was less forced and more natural. Now Tony slept, and that too was more natural, and not so much a drugged, exhausted loss of consciousness.

Steve knew he should get some sleep of his own. The serum meant he could go without sleep for a few days before he experienced any ill effects, but there was no point in wearing himself out unnecessarily. They had five more days of this ahead of them. While he would not suffer the cramped legs or aching back that befell other drivers on such a long-distance drive, he _would_ eventually get tired.

He couldn't do it, though. He could not close his eyes and miss out on this. All day long he had stolen glances over at Tony, just needing to see him. Not even the necessity of keeping his eyes on the road had made him forget to appreciate every moment he shared with Tony. At dinner, he had barely been able to take his eyes off Tony, scarcely noticing the food on his plate or the other diners, except to be grateful that no one recognized them.

Now this quiet peace under the comforting blue light. Light he would never take for granted again, having seen it go dark.

These moments – all of them – were to be treasured. If he could, he would lie like this forever, keeping watch over Tony, making sure that no one ever hurt him again. In those terrible weeks leading up to Stamford, he had seen just how far Tony would go to protect him. It was now his chance to show what _he_ would do.

The heater kicked on; warm air began to circulate in their room. This hotel was not very large or expensive, but it was clean and the restaurant had served a decent dinner. The bed was comfortable, so much so that although Tony had given him a coy smile as he climbed into bed, reminding Steve of his earlier teasing, he had fallen asleep within minutes. A quiet end to a quiet day. 

No, Steve mused, today hadn't been bad at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to apologize to everyone in Terre Haute, Indiana on Steve and Tony's behalf.
> 
> Second, this chapter got a little more explicit than I intended. If anyone feels I should change the rating of the story overall, please let me know.

It turned cold overnight; the next morning dawned clear and sunny, but chilly. Patchy frost lay on the grass. Steve took one look out the window and pulled a thick sweater out of his suitcase. He had never been fond of the cold, but since his rescue from the ice, his tolerance for it had gone down considerably.

They sat down for a quick tour of the hotel's breakfast offering – orange juice and bacon and eggs and toast for Steve, coffee and a stack of donuts for Tony – and packed up their stuff. Steve checked them out, and by 9:00 they were on I-70 heading west.

Tony was in high spirits as they drove away, teasing Steve about his all-American breakfast. Steve smiled and shrugged. "What? I was hungry."

Tony just laughed and put on his sunglasses.

****

Steve found another good classic rock station and for a while they drove in companionable silence, listening to the music. Tony's face was buried in his tablet, and Steve's focus was for the road.

The morning passed uneventfully. In between giving instructions to JARVIS over the microscopic phone hooked to his ear, Tony occasionally sang along under his breath to whatever song was playing. Steve didn't try to join in; he just smiled to himself and listened. Tony had a pleasant singing voice, unpolished by lessons of any kind. He had asked once if Tony had ever sung in public, and Tony had blinked at him. "You mean when I was sober? That would be an oh hell no, Cap." He had not asked again.

Just outside of Wheeling, West Virginia, traffic thickened and they were forced to slow down to a crawl. Tony glanced up at the sea of brake lights ahead of them and made a face. His fingers danced over the screen of his tablet; seconds later he said, "There's construction for the next ten miles. We're gonna be here a while."

Steve just shrugged philosophically. They were traveling cross-country on the interstate. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

On the radio, a commercial for a local car dealer was playing. He minutely adjusted the temperature controls on the dashboard, and wondered idly why commercials always seemed so much more interesting when they were for places outside your own neighborhood.

His lane was starting to move. He picked up some speed, then had to slow down again. The commercials ended and the DJ promised that coming up they would hear some AC/DC and some Led Zeppelin. The station's call sign played, then the music began. After a few seconds, he placed it as a Pink Floyd song, and he tapped the steering wheel in time to the beat.

"No," Tony murmured to JARVIS. "That's not gonna be fast enough. We gotta shave more off that reaction time."

They crept forward and stopped. Crept forward and miraculously kept creeping. Orange road signs and barrels now lined the road.

Tony raised his hand. A blue image appeared above the tablet. It looked very fragile. He turned it to one side, then the other. Steve had no idea what it was meant to be, but whatever it was, there were a lot of wires connected to it.

The lanes of the interstate veered off to the right; construction vehicles lined the median. The new stretch of pavement was rough and uneven, and the car bumped along. On the radio, the Pink Floyd song ended. Eight separate beats on a cymbal rang out, followed by a single guitar chord, then three in rapid succession, repeated twice. Recognizing the song, Steve started to smile.

Beside him, Tony bolted forward, all but throwing the tablet off his lap and onto the floor. He lunged for the radio. His flailing hand struck the volume control, and for a few seconds they rode along at barely thirty miles an hour, the car filled with the thundering strains of "Back in Black." Tony slapped again at the radio and this time managed to find the on/off button.

In the ringing silence that fell, the sound of Tony's harsh breathing was unnaturally loud.

Steve gripped the wheel so hard his hands hurt. He shot little glances at the road, just long enough to make sure he was not about to rear-end the car in front of them, but most of his attention was for Tony. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Tony sat very still, one hand pressed to the arc reactor, the other hovering in front of the radio, as though he expected it to turn on again by itself. He was very pale. "Stop," he said hoarsely. "Stop the car. _Stop the car._ "

There was nowhere to go. Orange barrels lined the road to their right, and traffic crept by on their left. "I can't," Steve said in agony. He didn't understand what was happening, and he felt incredibly helpless.

Tony's hand curled into a fist over the arc reactor. His gaze darted about everywhere, looking out each window in turn; sweat beaded his face. "Stop the car," he said thickly.

"I can't," Steve said again. He looked in vain for a break in the barrels alongside the road, and could see none. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Tony drew his left hand in, and now both fists covered the arc reactor. He swallowed hard, grimacing, and abruptly Steve understood that it was taking all his willpower not to be sick right here in the car.

He lowered the windows a little, hoping the cool November air would help. "It's okay," he said. "You're okay. It's over. It's gone. You don't have to listen to it." He didn't understand why, but he knew it was the song that had somehow upset Tony.

"Fuck you I know that," Tony snapped. The words were without any real venom though, and Steve didn't take offense at them. He inhaled deeply, shakily. "God."

Steve didn't like what he saw; Tony was still sweating and far too pale. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" Tony's sudden lunging motion might have ripped out some of the stitches. He had a sudden vision of their car pulling into the parking lot of a hospital, and he bit his lip anxiously.

"No," Tony said. "Yes. No. Whatever. I'm fine. I'm fine." With an effort he uncurled his hands from their tight fists, but did not lower them to his lap. "I just…"

"It was the song, wasn't it?" Steve said.

Tony nodded, just once. He looked like he might be sick again.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I thought you liked that one."

"I do," Tony said flatly. "I did. It was one of my favorites, Before."

Comprehension finally dawned. He and Tony both had a few "befores" in their lives, but for Tony, only one merited the capital letter. He would probably never know the complete details of why Tony associated that particular song with Afghanistan, but he didn't need to know them. He got it now, and that was enough.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't know."

"Well, how could you?" Tony said. Some of his color was returning, and he was breathing more normally, although he still sat unnaturally stiff and upright, refusing to lean against the seat at his back. He reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Christ."

Steve eased the car forward another six inches, then braked. He cursed the traffic and the fact that he was trapped here behind the wheel, unable to reach out to Tony except with words. He knew too that even if he dared to halt traffic completely and physically reached out, Tony would reject his offer. It was too soon, the fear still too near. Any touch now, any fumbling attempt at an embrace, would only send him further into the memory. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"They had a little radio," Tony said.

Steve frowned at this statement that had seemed to come out of nowhere. "Okay."

"That song. It was playing. When…" Tony shook his head. He looked down and seemed to finally realize that he was still holding his right hand protectively over the arc reactor. He made a face of disgust, and dropped his hand into his lap. "That's all. Hearing it now, like that, took me right back there."

"Oh," Steve said quietly. _They had a little radio,_ and he was willing to bet every dime he owned that Tony could still see their faces, those brave soldiers who had died trying to defend him from the terrorist attack that had changed his life so utterly.

"Sorry," Tony muttered. He looked down. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

"You didn't," Steve lied. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Mmm," Tony said, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"We can pull over at the next exit," he said, hoping and praying it would be soon.

"No," Tony said curtly. "Just…keep going."

****

Just before noon, they crossed the state line and entered Ohio.

They rode in silence. Steve still blamed himself for the incident with the AC/DC song, even though he knew logically that it was not his fault.

In the passenger seat, Tony gazed blankly out the window, staring at nothing. Steve knew he was angry and disgusted with himself for his reaction to the song, considering it a display of weakness. Never mind that they could hear that song a hundred times without it bothering Tony. With all the recent events, the arc reactor and his damaged heart were no doubt forefront in Tony's mind these days. Add to that their slow progress over the uneven pavement, a motion too reminiscent of military vehicles traveling down dusty desert roads, and the result was inevitable.

Yet Steve knew he could say none of that. Tony would not listen. So instead he held his silence, and he worried, and he watched and waited.

****

He cleared his throat. "If you see someplace you want to stop, let me know."

"Just keep going," Tony said.

"We have to stop—" Steve said.

"No," Tony interrupted. "We don't."

"Yeah," Steve replied. "We do. We need gas."

Tony just sighed.

****

By two, Tony was back at work, muttering over his tablet as though nothing had happened. He talked constantly to JARVIS, but not to Steve.

The radio remained off.

****

Their hotel in Indiana was already booked and paid for, but on the spur of the moment, Steve pulled into the parking lot of the Hilton instead.

"Wow," Tony said dryly. "SHIELD really splurged on this one."

"Well, you know," Steve said, "I do have some pull with them."

Tony laughed, bitter and mocking. "If that's the case, then you should have demanded a suite at the Four Seasons."

"In Terre Haute?" Steve said as he parked the car.

Tony made a face. "Good point."

The young man behind the front desk of the Hilton looked like he was barely out of high school. His eyes widened as Steve walked up.

"Hi," Steve said. He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, moves designed to make himself seem shorter, not so broad in the chest. He was pretty sure it didn't work though, especially once he gave his name. The kid behind the desk didn't say anything, however; maybe there was just enough uncertainty there to give him pause. Whatever the reason, he just answered Steve's questions, handed over Steve's credit card and the key to his room, and wished him a good night.

"Thanks," Steve said, and headed back outside.

Tony already had their luggage out of the trunk and was working on pulling his shield out from the back seat. "Did you get the penthouse suite?"

"No," he said, "but I did find out that the kitchen is open for another two hours."

A slow, almost predatory smile spread across Tony's face. "You don't say."

Steve, who was going to be footing this particular bill instead of SHIELD, never even batted an eye. "Yep."

"Well then," Tony said. "It would be a shame to let the staff sit around bored for the last two hours of the day."

Steve picked up their suitcases. "A terrible shame."

****

Their room was large and well-heated. A single lamp beside the bed was lit, filling the room with shadow. Tony carelessly dropped both shield and suitcase armor to the floor, then went over to the window and pulled the drapes shut. Taking a little more care with the suitcases he was carrying, Steve placed them on the king-sized bed, side by side.

He fiddled with the latch on his suitcase, then took a deep breath. "I need a shower," he said. "Want to join me?"

Still over by the window, Tony looked at him. "Say that again."

"Want to join me?" Steve said. He tried on a smile.

Tony walked slowly toward him. He did not look amused.

Steve stopped smiling, but he stood his ground. It would have been so easy to cry off, to say he had only been joking, he hadn't really meant it. Instead he looked Tony in the eye and he said, low and quiet, "Want to join me?"

Tony walked right up to him and stopped. "No," he said, and kissed Steve.

Steve reached for him, and Tony took a single step backward, breaking the kiss and putting himself out of Steve's range. He just stood there, waiting, until Steve lowered his hands. Then he stepped back in.

Thinking he understood the rules now, Steve smiled down at him.

Tony did not smile back. "Say it again."

"Want to join me," he said.

Tony shook his head. "Say it again."

And finally Steve got it. "Join me."

Tony nodded his approval. He took another step closer, lifted his hands to Steve's shoulders, and kissed him.

This time Steve kept his hands at his sides, and was rewarded by Tony stepping forward yet again, forcing him to walk backward toward the bathroom.

"Join me," he said.

"No," Tony said, and moved him back still further, fingers gripping his arms hard enough to hurt even through the jacket he was still wearing.

"Join me," and they were in the bathroom now.

"Off," Tony ordered, and Steve began to remove his clothes. Tony did the same, and though unhappy shame burned in his eyes when he bared his scarred and stitched chest, he did not look away.

Steve had never loved him more, that brave, beautiful heart.

Naked, they moved toward the shower. The backs of his legs hit the tub and he stepped up and in, taking Tony with him. He made sure he stood facing the spray, so the water would beat down on Tony's back and shoulders, not his chest. 

"Join me," he whispered.

"No," Tony said, trembling. He bowed his head and rested his forehead on Steve's shoulder.

Steve raised his hand and cupped the back of Tony's neck. He did not dare do anything else though. Not yet. He was actually a little surprised that Tony had allowed him to do even this much.

The silence stretched out. He was ready to stop playing by the rules and speak up for real when Tony lifted his head and stood up straight. He looked at Steve for a long moment, then he said, "I'm not ready for this."

Immediately Steve put all thoughts of sex out of his head. This was not a game anymore. Tony meant what he said. It was not going to happen.

"It's all right," he said. "You don't have to be."

Tony made a bitter scoffing noise, showing what he thought of that.

"I mean it," Steve said. "You're allowed to not be okay. You went through a terrible ordeal. No one expects you to just bounce back from that right away."

"Maybe not," Tony said. "But I'm tired of this. I want to be healthy again. I'm sick of this." Despite his words, though, he didn't sound very angry. Mostly he just sounded tired – and old.

"It's going to take time," Steve said, and instantly hated himself for such a weak response.

Tony glared at the tiled wall of the shower. "If it had been you, you'd already be back out there kicking supervillain ass and taking names."

"If it had been me, I'd be dead," he replied. "A gunshot will kill me as easily as the next person and you know it. Tony, you may not want to hear this, but the arc reactor saved your life."

"You think I don't know that?" Tony snapped.

Bringing up the arc reactor had obviously been a bad idea. He hurried to change the subject before Tony stormed out and the moment was lost forever. "I think you're tired and it's been a long day," he said. He took a breath. "Will you do something for me?"

"What?" Tony asked wearily, clearly at the end of his patience.

"Will you let me take care of you?" Steve asked. He saw Tony start to bristle, and he quickly added, "Just for tonight. Please?"

Tony looked at him, surprise and wariness in his eyes. That look made Steve want to pound his fist through the wall, because no one should ever react that way when someone said they wanted to take care of them. No one should stand there wondering why, or if they even deserved to be taken care of. Especially not the man he loved.

For a long moment the outcome was in doubt. Steve did not dare to speak, for fear of ruining his only chance at this. Then at last Tony exhaled shakily and surrendered, albeit with little grace. "Fine, okay."

Quickly, before Tony could change his mind, he grabbed the soap the hotel had thoughtfully provided and unwrapped the packaging. It smelled good, a cool clean scent Steve approved of. He drew the shower curtain and turned on the water. He tested the temperature until it ran just shy of true hot, then diverted it to the shower.

Warm water cascaded down around them. The warmth, the sound of the rushing water, the small space in the shower itself, all contributed to make Steve feel as though they were standing in their own little world. Cut off from everyone who made demands on them. Isolated from everyone who might try to hurt them. Just the two of them against the world.

Tony stood silently under the water, his eyes closed. He did not move as Steve kissed him; he just stood there, pliable and submissive. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and Steve did not bother trying. He just took the soap in his hands and worked up a lather. Then he knelt down and picked up Tony's right foot.

He worked slowly, methodically, washing every inch of Tony's skin. He took his time, giving every part of Tony's body equal care and attention. He cupped his hands under the water and rinsed the soap away. He pressed soft kisses to Tony's knee, the inside of his thigh, the line of hair beneath his navel, the soft skin of his wrist.

Tony had relaxed under his ministrations, but he tensed up again when Steve's hands drew too near the arc reactor. Steve moved quicker then, keeping his motions light and strictly professional, with no kisses or unwanted touching.

He moved around Tony and stood behind him now, soaping up his back and shoulders. He let his fingers trail over the musculature of Tony's back, down to his hips, and back up again. As he stepped aside so the shower spray could rinse off the soap, he peeked over Tony's shoulder and saw what he had suspected; Tony was half-hard, his body responding to Steve's touch in spite of his exhaustion.

Slowly he eased one hand over Tony's hip, and down, to take him gently in his grasp. Tony inhaled sharply, hips moving forward without any conscious volition, pushing him further into Steve's hand. He uttered a soft groan, and his eyelids fluttered as Steve began to move his hand up and down.

It was difficult to deny himself, but Steve did not – could not – regret it. This was for Tony. He angled his body so his own erection was not pressed up against Tony, and he bent down to kiss Tony's shoulder. And all the while he kept up that gentle pumping motion of his hand, bringing Tony to a breathless climax.

Tony arched his back when he came, his knees buckling. Steve held him up easily with his free hand, flushed and filled with an unsatisfied ache that he in no way intended to fulfill. He stepped to the side so he could kiss Tony properly – and Tony surprised him by turning to face him and throwing his arms around him.

"I love you," Steve said quietly. He wrapped one arm about Tony's shoulders and fumbled at the shower controls with the other. He pulled open the shower curtain and looked around for the towels.

"You didn't…" Tony said, his cheek pressed to Steve's shoulder.

"It's okay," Steve said. "I don't have to." Even though the proof of his lie was solidly between them.

Tony twisted in his embrace and stood back a little. "Let me."

"No," Steve shushed him. "It's okay. You don't have to."

"I want to," Tony said. He still looked tired, but his eyes were clearer than they had been all day. He didn't even seem to mind that bare inches separated the arc reactor from Steve's chest.

"It's okay," Steve said again, and stepped out of the tub. He reached for a towel and handed it to Tony. "Honestly." He grabbed another towel and began drying himself off.

Tony gave him a look of impatience bordering on annoyance, and that was when Steve truly relaxed for the first time all day, understanding that Tony was finally back with him after the terrible incident in the car this morning. "Let's get dressed and order room service," he said, smiling.

"You're really not going to let me do anything about that," Tony said with a gesture aimed at Steve's erection.

"I really am," Steve said. He scrubbed at his wet hair with the damp towel, then began to walk out of the bathroom. He would be fine and he knew it, but he would be fine a lot quicker if he didn't have a still-naked Tony in front of him.

Over his shoulder he said, "Start thinking about what you want to order."

"One of everything," Tony fired back. Two wet thuds sounded as he stepped out of the tub. "And a hot fudge sundae. With lots and lots of nuts."

Steve's stomach rumbled. He opened the wardrobe and pulled out one of the fluffy white bathrobes hanging within. "Sounds good," he called.

"Yeah," Tony said, and his voice was a lot closer than Steve had expected; he was already in the bedroom, still naked but dry now except for his hair.

Quickly Steve looked down, ignoring the complaining ache in his groin. He would be fine, he told himself sternly.

"And extra whipped cream," Tony said. He walked over to Steve.

"That's…yeah," Steve managed. He belted the bathrobe, noting with some dismay that the sleeves weren't long enough; too much of his wrists were exposed.

"Really?" Tony said. "That's it? No other reaction?"

"Really really," Steve said.

Tony folded his arms, and he was still naked, and Steve was going to forcibly put him in the other bathrobe in another second. "I'm feeling kinda selfish here, you know."

"That's the whole point," Steve said. "Now get dressed and let's order. I'm starving." He headed for the stack of hotel information left for them on the desk by the window. The room service menu was quite long, and he glanced over it without really reading any of the choices offered. His eyes still on the menu, he said, "You can make it up to me sometime when I least expect it, how's that sound?"

"Square deal," Tony said. "I approve of this plan." Metal squeaked as he pulled the second bathrobe off the hanger and put it on. Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye, and looked up only once he was sure that Tony was covered up.

"Now," Tony said with a wicked grin. "Let's get some room service."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Pixar.
> 
> Many thanks go to [RoAnshi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roanshi/works) for helping to make this chapter what it is.

In the middle of the night, Tony woke from a dream he could not remember. He was lying on his side, a warm body at his back. The hotel bathrobes were piled in a white fluffy mountain at the foot of the bed.

The room was pleasantly warm. He recalled a bland salad, some good chicken, an excellent cheesecake, and an absolutely decadent hot fudge sundae. He had wanted to explore the contents of the mini-bar, but Steve had talked him out of it. Steve's hands had been on his shoulders then, soothing away the knots of tension, dissolving him into a puddle of senseless mush. He must have fallen asleep shortly afterward.

He smiled lazily and burrowed deeper under the covers. At his back, Steve made a muzzy snorting noise, then was still.

He closed his eyes. This time he did not dream.

****

Tony was bored. Painfully, restlessly bored.

He had gone about as far as he could with just a tablet and a line to JARVIS. He needed his lab, access to more computers, room to move around. Sitting in this car day in and day out was driving him crazy.

He had already talked to Pepper twice ("For the last time, everything is just fine; the board meeting will go on as scheduled,") Bruce once ("Believe it or not, the Tower is still standing, even without your august presence,") and left a voicemail for Rhodey ("I'm bored. Suit up, get your ass out here, and give us a fly-by.") Even needling Steve had stopped being fun an hour ago.

They were currently on the main drag of some nameless small town in what was either Illinois or Missouri. It was time for what had already become their noon routine, stopping to gas up the car, eat a quick lunch, and stretch their legs. Due to what Steve called his "pickiness", it was up to Tony to find an appropriate place to eat.

"Well?" Steve asked. "See anything?"

And yeah. He did. No contest this time. "There." He pointed. "The pizza joint with the tacky signs."

Steve hesitated. "You're sure?"

Tony bit back a grin. "Very sure. Just park around back."

With obvious reluctance, Steve pulled into the parking lot. They drove past the screaming kids, past the balloons tied to the wrought iron fencework lining the sidewalk, past the horrific bright red and yellow signs. Past the dumpsters that reeked of grease, and around to the back, where the employees parked.

The instant the car was in park, Tony got out. The afternoon was cold, but not terribly so. He opened the back door and pulled out his suitcase - the only one that mattered.

Steve saw what he was doing and paled. "Tony, no."

"Oh yes," Tony said. Wintry wind tugged at his hair and made him grimace a little as he peeled off his jacket and tossed it into the back seat.

"You can't be serious," Steve protested. "This is not a good idea."

"I am very serious," Tony said. Before Steve could stop him, he opened the suitcase.

The armor settled around him, heavy and comforting, a long lost friend. The faceplate snapped closed and the HUD came online, and there was JARVIS saying, "Welcome back, sir. You are several hours behind schedule. I expected you before this."

"Love you too," Tony said, grinning from ear to ear – it had only been a week, but God, he had missed this, snarky AI and all.

"Tony." Steve stood in front of him, arms crossed, anxious and concerned and entirely too gorgeous for his own good. "You can't do this."

"Actually, I can," he said. It kind of ticked him off that Steve was being so adamant about this. It wasn't like he was going to fly or anything. "And I'm gonna. Whether you come with me or not."

Steve's mouth tightened. "As if I'd let you take them on by yourself." He shoved the car keys into his jacket pocket and unzipped it.

Tony waited impatiently for him to get into costume. No one had seen them yet, but he doubted their luck would hold much longer.

While he waited, he powered the repulsors down to nothing, and resisted the urge to rise in flight. As tempting as it was, he didn't dare strain the arc reactor. The imperfect fit meant that it was working twice as hard as its ancestors, and failure was imminent. He had nothing concrete to base that on, just a gut instinct, but he knew that it was true. He wasn't about to do anything now to hasten its demise.

Steve hefted his shield and at last was ready. "I still don't think this is a good idea. We're supposed to lay low."

"Relax," Tony told him. "No one's gonna think it's really you." He walked around the side of the building, and toward the birthday party already in progress.

Someone – either the pizza place or a parent – had put together a little outdoor eating area/playground. Kids ranging in age from two to probably-just-under-ten threw themselves screaming around a bright green jungle gym. Others were living it up in a bounce house. Harried adults were trying to keep order while also making sure each kid got enough to eat at the picnic tables laden with pizza and cupcakes. It was a scene of barely controlled chaos – and Tony loved it.

A little boy with blond curls saw them first. He pointed and shouted. "Cap and Iron Man!"

Heads turned. Kids shrieked. Adults looked at each other in bafflement, silently asking who had set this up.

"Okay, you're up," he said.

Steve cleared his throat. The man who had punched out Hitler and fought in a world war, who had spoken to presidents and soldiers and bond-buying citizens – and all he could manage was a dorky little wave and an overly cheery, "That's right, kids!"

Tony rolled his eyes, which thankfully no one could see. He stomped forward, the armor clanking, reminding him loudly (and painfully in a few places) that he badly needed to do some maintenance on it. "Who's the lucky birthday star?"

Half a dozen voices shouted, "Randy!" Kids pointed. A little boy in a bright blue jacket stepped forward and yelled, "Me!"

Tony walked up to him and dropped down to one knee. "Happy birthday, Randy."

Little Randy, who looked like a very young version of Bruce Banner, threw his arms around Tony. "I love you, Iron Man!"

Tony faltered. Little kids often reacted that way to Iron Man – or any of the superheroes they met – but it never stopped catching him off guard. 

Steve came to his rescue. "Happy birthday, Randy."

The little boy shifted his attention to Steve, clinging to him next. "I love you, Cap!"

Steve hugged him back with one arm, holding onto his shield with the other. "We hope you're having a great birthday, Randy."

The kid backed up. His eyes were shining. "Can we go kill some bad guys now?"

"Uh," Steve said.

Tony stood up. "Why else do you think we're here?"

"All riiiight!" Randy shouted. He took off running for the jungle gym, firing imaginary weapons at imaginary villains as he went.

One of the adults walked over. "Did Pizza Palace hire you guys?"

"No, ma'am," Steve said. "We—"

"We show up where we're needed," Tony said. "That's what makes us Avengers."

The woman gave him a look, eyebrows raised. "Oookay," she said. "I just don't remember seeing this in the list of things the restaurant provided."

"We're new," Tony said. "Starting today."

"Oh," she said. She looked around at the kids, at little Randy, who was perched on top of the jungle gym, both hands laced into a gun as he hollered for everyone to help him chase down the Red Skull. "Well, thank you guys for showing up. It looks like you're a hit."

"No thanks necessary," Steve said modestly.

"Iron Man?" A little girl tugged on Tony's gauntlet. "Iron Man?"

He looked down at her. "Yeah?"

"I wanna see you shoot something," she said earnestly, maybe all of five years old.

Even without looking, he could see the disapproval on Steve's face. Not to worry. "Sorry," he told the little girl, "I don't think Pizza Palace would like me blowing up stuff in their parking lot."

"I want to see you fly!" shouted one of the older boys.

Another one yelled at Steve, "Throw your shield, Cap!" Others took up this cry, and even Randy on his throne atop the jungle gym yelled, "Throw it pleeeease!"

Steve looked at him, a look that promised he was going to pay for this later. Tony didn't care. He was having way too much fun.

One of the parents held up her hands. "No one is throwing anything or shooting anything!" she said firmly.

A chorus of disappointment rose in the air.

Tony stomped over to the picnic table that held the remains of the pepperoni pizzas the kids had been eating. "Hey guys," he said. "I bet this is all cold and gross now. What do you think?"

"Yeah!" the kids cried. And "Eww!" and "Gross!"

He raised his hand. "JARVIS, .25% power, please."

"I don't think you should do that, _Iron Man_ ," Steve said warningly.

"Do it, do it, do it!" the kids chanted.

Ever one to please the crowd, Tony fired the repulsor.

As one, the kids ran screaming for the freshly cooked pizza.

****

"You realize this is going to end up on the internet," Steve said as they drove away.

"I'm counting on it," Tony replied.

"Why?" Steve asked.

"Because," Tony said. "I owe Fury a fuck-you."

"A what?" Steve sounded outraged – but also like he was trying desperately not to laugh.

"Just trust me," Tony said, and he was definitely not thinking about that surreal conversation with Fury, the one about Howard. "Besides, no one can prove it was us."

"How many rental costumes do you know of that have real firing repulsors?" Steve asked as they coasted to a stop at a red light. He looked around. "We need to find somewhere to change."

"I'm good," Tony said. He had removed the helmet, but that was all. He couldn't stay in the suit forever of course, but he wasn't ready to take it off just yet.

Predictably, Steve complained. "We are not driving the rest of the afternoon in costume." 

"Sure we could," he said breezily. It wouldn't be terribly comfortable – at least not for him – but he was willing to make the sacrifice. Some things were worth it.

"We haven't eaten yet either," Steve said. And before Tony could point out that in fact they _had_ , he added, "And a slice of charred pizza a la Iron Man does not count."

Tony shrugged. "Eh, I've had worse."

"Yeah," Steve said dryly. "So have I. In the war."

"You don't think a playground full of kids is a battlefield?" he demanded.

"Oh, I know it is," Steve replied. "You forget, I was the enemy most of the time."

That kind of shut Tony up. He had in fact forgotten that. Little Steve Rogers would never have been invited to a birthday party like that. Or if he had, he would have been hanging out by himself, not really a part of the group. The image in his head of small Steve forced to the fringes of a gang of friends made his heart pound and his hands want to curl into fists. None of them back then had known what they had. Not a one.

The light changed. Steve shot Tony a look, then began driving forward. "There," he said. He gestured down the road. "The road opens up, up ahead. We'll find somewhere and pull over."

"Killjoy," Tony muttered. Then he forgot all about being annoyed with Steve, as his phone chimed. It was the tone only JARVIS used when sending him an alert.

Eagerly he checked the phone – and was not disappointed. On the first day of the trip, he had instructed JARVIS to scan the local websites of each town they drove through, in case there was anything interesting to be found. Newspapers, dating sites, the high school's Facebook page, you name it. From time to time JARVIS had in fact forwarded something to his attention, but so far he had not found anything worth following up on.

This, though. This had to be pursued.

"Where did you say we were staying the night?" he asked.

"Columbia," Steve said. "Why?"

Tony grinned. "No reason."

Steve shot him a suspicious look. "Seriously. Why?"

"You just keep driving," he said. "I'll tell you when to turn off."

"What?" Now Steve looked like a deranged spectator at a tennis match, his head turning constantly so he could look both at Tony and the road. "Why? Why are we turning off? Where are we going? What are you up to, Tony?"

It was too funny. Still grinning, he said, "You'll see," in tones of lofty promise. "For now, just keep driving. Or, you know, you could always let me drive."

Steve's hands clamped down possessively on the steering wheel. "Not a chance."

Tony shrugged. "Then I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Steve gave him another look, skeptical and amused and completely bewildered, but Tony wasn't talking.

Not yet.

****

Half an hour later, they stopped for a real lunch. While Steve paid for their food, Tony wandered out into the parking lot and made a quick call. "I'd like to talk to you about your ad on Craigslist. Is it still for sale?"

The man on the other end of the phone did not sound like he was in a good mood. "Mister, you better be serious. I'm tired of people just comin' out to gawk."

Tony refrained from pointing out that putting an ad on Craigslist for an authentic World War II aircraft was not a way to attract serious buyers only. "Oh, I'm very serious," he said. "I should be there in about an hour. What's your address?"

After a pause, the man gave it to him.

"I'll see you around three," Tony promised, and ended the call. He looked up and there was Steve exiting the restaurant, coat zipped up against the November chill, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He looked very kissable just then, and Tony smiled.

Steve saw him and started toward him. "Ready?"

"Yep," Tony said.

****

Their destination was a small town in the middle of nowhere. The man selling the P-40 was named Cliff, no last name given, and he had the kind of mullet that made Tony proud to be an American, where such things were not only possible, but encouraged.

Cliff squinted at him. "You don't look like a serious buyer."

"What exactly does a serious buyer look like?" Tony said. He wasn't completely in business-negotiation-shark-mode, but he was damn close. "I'll tell you, Cliff. They look like me." Over his shoulder he added, "Right, Steve?"

Steve did not reply. He was too busy staring awestruck at the P-40 Warhawk. It was painted a dark olive green, the nose stylized to look like a grinning jaw of teeth and eyes narrowed in steely determination. It was a single-man bomber, nothing at all like the planes that had ferried Steve around to various battlefields during the war, but it was the real deal, and that was what mattered.

"How did you get this?" Tony asked. The plane was not airworthy, only halfway restored, but he could see that she would be a beauty once finished.

"My grandfather was a collector," Cliff said. His nose was reddened from the cold, and he scrubbed briskly at it. "I got it when he died, but I can't do anything with it. I hate to sell it, but times being what they are…" He shrugged.

Tony nodded absently. It was a common phrase these days, and he always felt vaguely guilty when he heard it. Not because he was a billionaire and he had plenty while others did not, but because he _didn't_ feel guilty over the fact of his wealth. "Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, am I right?" And in the next breath he got right down to business. "Your ad says two hundred-fifty thousand dollars."

"That's right," Cliff said, somewhat defensively. "I don't think that's unreasonable. I got museums and flight companies interested, too. One of them wanted to come out today and get it, but I told them to hold off until I talked to you."

The first part was almost certainly true, the last almost certainly a lie. Tony watched as Steve lifted a hand and stroked the snarling jaw of the aircraft. He had begun walking a slow circle around the plane, that awestruck expression still on his face.

"I'll give you five," Tony said. "My CEO will contact you tomorrow to arrange for transportation." He held out his hand.

Cliff blinked and stared at him. "Did you…just say…five…hundred thousand dollars?"

"Take it or leave it," Tony said, his hand still out.

Cliff looked at him. "How do I know you've got that kind of money?"

"Oh," Tony said. "Right." He reached for his back pocket.

Up until four days ago, he would have sworn he didn't even own a wallet, but while they had been making their preparations for the drive to Malibu, Steve had insisted he carry one. They needed proper ID on them, Steve had argued, in the event that something happened. At that point Tony would have agreed to anything, just to make sure they got on the road as scheduled. Now he was glad he had surrendered to Steve's argument. It was worth it, just to see mulletheaded Cliff's jaw drop in shock when he saw Tony's driver's license.

"Holy shit," Cliff breathed. He looked up, his eyes wide as saucers. "You're Iron Man!"

"That's me," Tony agreed easily. "Now about this sale…"

"And that's…" Cliff gawked at Steve, who was still blissing out on the airplane.

"Captain America," Tony supplied helpfully.

"Holy shit," Cliff said again. "I didn't recognize you!"

"I think we've established that," Tony said. "Now let's talk particulars."

"Yeah," Cliff said, dazed. "Okay."

"My CEO, Ms. Pepper Potts-Hogan, will be contacting you sometime tomorrow to arrange the payment details and shipping to California," Tony said.

"Okay," Cliff said again, nodding. In about five minutes it would occur to him that he should have held out for a million dollars, but for now he was still shell-shocked over his good fortune. "That sounds fine."

"Great," Tony said. He held out his hand again, because one of the few things Howard had taught him that he still held onto was that you always shook hands with a man when you made a deal with him. "So we're square?"

"Huh?" Cliff blinked, trying hard to come out of his state of shock. "Oh. Yeah. _Yeah._ " He shook Tony's hand.

Tony grinned. "Well, that's probably the most painless acquisition I've made in a long time."

"I got some papers that we need to sign," Cliff said. "My lawyer drew 'em up. You guys want to come in the house, get warmed up?"

Tony turned to look at Steve, who had finally managed to drag himself away from the plane; he was looking their way, obviously wondering what he was missing. "One sec," he said, and sauntered over.

Steve's eyes were brilliantly blue and alight with nostalgia. He swallowed hard. "Did we just…did you just buy this?"

"You know, I think I did," Tony said.

"Oh my God," Steve said. "Why?"

"Why not?" he countered. "Doesn't everyone need an authentic World War II aircraft in their backyard?"

"Tony…" Steve looked overwhelmed. "Thank you."

"Hey, who says it's for you?" he said easily. "Maybe I just thought I needed one more obscenely expensive, useless collector's item to add to my already obscenely expensive, useless collection of stuff."

Immediately though he felt bad for making the joke, because Steve colored bright red and looked away. "Sorry," Tony said. "That wasn't funny."

Steve looked up. "So this _is_ for me." He smiled then, and he looked so happy and so damn young that Tony felt his heart skip a beat. Even though they had gone public weeks ago with their relationship, he managed to stand still then and not throw his arms around this amazing man he loved. This was not the time or the place. Not with Cliff and his mullet watching them, and a business deal still to be closed.

But he wanted to. God he wanted to.

Instead he contented himself with what he hoped was a look of meaningful promise, and he said, "We should be going. On the road again and all that."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I guess we should."

"Okay," Tony said. "Let's sign the papers and get out of here."

****

Pepper was less than pleased when he called her with the news that he had just bought a genuine WWII airplane. Steve wondered out loud why Pepper should even have to handle it, since she was CEO and weren't there other people who did this kind of work now? JARVIS chimed in with a text saying that it was already all over Cliff Mullethead's Facebook page that he had just sold his P-40 to Tony "Iron Man" Stark.

"No good deed goes unpunished," Tony muttered as he finally put the phone away. It was nearly dark; they were just outside Columbia, and their hotel. It had been a good day, but he was tired and ready for it to be over.

It wasn't until they were exiting the interstate that a sudden thought occurred to him. He gave Steve a look.

"Er, you _can_ fly that thing, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very glad I was able to give them this day. They're going to need it, in light of what's coming up....


	9. Chapter 9

Steve had been on high alert all through the impromptu birthday party, just waiting for Tony to do something disastrous. He had been so certain of it that when Tony fired the repulsor at the cold pizza, it had taken everything he had not to forcibly march Tony back to the car and away from that place. But he had been proven wrong. Tony had suffered no ill effects from that single repulsor blast.

Then there had been the plane, and Steve knew he had failed then, he had let his focus shift from Tony to that beautiful aircraft. He had been so full of memory and nostalgia that he had forgotten to look after Tony like he should. Everything had turned out fine in the end, though, drinks shared as they signed the paperwork turning the aircraft over to Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers, co-signed. He remembered grinning like a fool at the former owner as he happily scribbled a few autographs too, even though he had known they would just end up being sold for a profit.

He had thought that was it then, no need to remain on alert.

He had thought wrong.

****

By now the novelty of the road trip had worn off. Tony was bored – vocally, loudly, bored. Steve was bored, too. There was little to see as I-70 arrowed through western Missouri and Kansas. Just endless fields and farms and small towns that blended into each other.

"Well," he said, "at least we'll get some scenery starting tonight. The hotel in Denver is highly recommended."

Tony turned to look at him, and Steve glanced over at him. There was an odd expression on Tony's face, one he could not decipher with just a quick glance. 

Much later, looking back, he pinpointed that moment as the one when he should have known that something was up. But at the time, he knew nothing. Never even imagined he had anything to worry about. 

And when he thought about it, he was pretty sure that even Tony, who must have surely had a suspicion or two about what was to come, hadn't known just how bad it would get. Nor could he blame Tony for staying silent.

No. He blamed himself. Because he should have known.

****

The revelation that Tony Stark had showed up in person to buy a genuine WWII aircraft in Missouri was offered as proof that their appearance at the birthday party was real. The two stories did indeed make the news, and for most of that long, boring day, Tony was on the phone.

Steve drove west and listened to those one-sided conversations, sometimes quietly chuckling, other times growing irritated. It was clear that most people thought they had done something generous and kind by crashing the party and giving those kids the memories of a lifetime. Others, most notably Director Fury, were angry by their refusal to lay low, and accused them of deliberately seeking attention. 

Steve found himself holding his hand out. "Let me talk to him." He had not yet fully forgiven Fury for his silence when the rest of the media was trying to tear Tony apart, and he welcomed this chance to tell the other man exactly what he thought of him.

"No can do," Tony said, denying him the opportunity. "He hung up on me. Or maybe I hung up on him." He shrugged as he pocketed the phone, showing how little he cared.

"He'll be calling me later," Steve predicted direly. "Wanting to know why I disobeyed a direct order."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony said. "He gave you a direct order saying we couldn't crash any little kids' birthday parties?"

"Of course not," Steve snapped.

"Then I don't see what the problem is," Tony said, as though it were that simple. Which for him, it was. "Let me guess," he added. "He gave you the same speech he gave me. Threatened to bench us if we put even one toe over the line."

Steve glanced at him, then returned his eyes to the road; he could see the bluish haze of the Rocky Mountains on the horizon now. "Yes."

"Bullshit," Tony said. "That's what it is. He can't bench _Captain America._ And he certainly isn't benching me. So…I call bullshit."

"I know that," Steve said.

"Then _know_ it," Tony said. "He's the director of SHIELD. Nothing more. _You_ lead the Avengers. And I'll tell you something else. Every other superhero out there follows you. Spider-Man. Reed and his gang. Et cetera, et cetera. And don't you forget it."

Steve gripped the wheel tightly and stared straight ahead. He knew Tony was right, but he didn't like to think about that. It was much easier to think only of the Avengers, and the little family he had made for himself in the Tower.

"And—"

"Enough," he said. "You made your point."

"Did I?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Steve said. "You did. Now shut up."

"Okay," Tony said agreeably, and for a wonder, he obeyed.

****

Denver had changed incredibly since the last time Steve had been there, as part of the fund-raising efforts during the war. Had the circumstances been different, he would have loved to go out and see the city. Instead, he and Tony stayed in and ordered room service again.

It wasn't as much fun as last time, though. Tony said he wasn't very hungry, and he only picked at his food, leaving most of it on his plate. All of Steve's protective instincts kicked into gear when he heard that, but Tony just got irritated when he tried to coax him to eat more, so he surrendered that battle – although not without misgivings.

He ate quickly, feeling odd being the only one to enjoy the room service. "We'll have to come back here sometime," he said as he leafed through the tourism brochures the hotel had left on their nightstand. "I'd like to see the city."

"Yeah," Tony said. He didn't sound too enthusiastic, though. He was lying on the bed, channel surfing; the TV was on mute and he hadn't yet seen anything worth turning the volume up for.

"There's actually a lot of places I'd like to visit," Steve said. "We could maybe go back to New York this way. Take our time. See things."

Tony gave him a look.

"Like when we were in Ohio," he said. "I know we weren't that far from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame."

"How do you know I haven't already been there?" Tony said.

"You haven't been there with _me_ ," Steve said with a smile.

That earned him a smile in response. "Very true. We could do naughty things in the Elvis exhibit."

"We could do naughty things here, too," Steve said.

Tony made a face. "No… Not tonight."

Steve was disappointed, but he didn't say anything. Last night had been the same, Tony choosing not to pursue anything beyond a few kisses. He understood why, and he certainly didn't hold it against Tony, but he did hope that they might be able to commemorate their arrival in Malibu properly.

Tony's phone chimed. He dug it out of his pocket, scowled at the message on the screen, and sighed. "For the sixth time, JARVIS has asked me to remind you to pay attention to the weather forecast. There's going to be snow in the higher elevations."

He nodded. There were signs in the hotel lobby reminding travelers to keep an eye on the weather, especially at this time of year. "Bad?"

"Dunno," Tony said. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "No one's talking about closing the interstate though, if that's what you're worried about."

Steve blinked. He hadn't even considered that that might be an option. He gestured to the TV. "Do they have the Weather Channel?" There were a lot of things on TV that frankly horrified him, but the Weather Channel was not one of them. He was utterly charmed by the idea of a channel devoted strictly to telling people the weather, all day, every day.

Tony groaned. "How is this my life," he sighed. "Laid up in a hotel room with Captain America, watching the Weather Channel. Just shoot me now. Oh wait…"

That wasn't funny. Steve frowned, but Tony was focused on the TV now, flipping rapidly through the channels until he found one with a perky blonde standing in front of a map of the United States. Cartoonish snow clouds covered part of the Rocky Mountains, in stark contrast to the bright suns that dotted the rest of the national map.

"Lucky us," Tony said. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

"Tired?" Steve asked. It was still early yet, not even nine o'clock.

"A little," Tony said. He burrowed his face into the pillow.

He looked like a little kid when he did that, and Steve wanted to smother him with kisses and affection. "Go to sleep then," he said. He would stay up for a while longer, reading the book he had brought, stopping from time to time so he could watch Tony sleep. Of late, that had become his favorite pastime.

"Mmm," Tony said, and Steve just smiled.

****

In the middle of the night, he woke to the sound of voices. Light flickered against his closed eyelids. He lay still, and the voices became that of an old sitcom.

He opened his eyes. The TV was on, although the sound was turned down. Tony was sitting at the table by the window, frowning down at his tablet. The tiny device for his phone was hooked over his ear. "…to expect?" he muttered.

"Tony?" He sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

Tony looked up sharply, then winced. For a strange instant Steve thought he looked almost guilty, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Hey," he said. He pulled the phone off his ear and dropped it onto the table, then swiftly moved his hand over the tablet so the screen went blank. It was an unnecessary precaution; even Steve couldn't have read the screen from across the room. "Did I wake you?"

"It's okay," he said. "You couldn't sleep?"

"No," Tony said. "I got…" He waved his fingers at his temple. "Too much on my mind, I guess." He smiled. "No big deal. I just want to get some of these ideas down, get JARVIS started on them. Go back to sleep. I'll be there in a little bit."

Steve had learned long ago to listen to his instincts instead of the words Tony said – and they were telling him now that something was wrong here. He sat up and threw off the blankets. "What kind of ideas?" he asked. He was almost positive that Tony had just lied to him, but he knew he had to come at this from an angle. Anything else would just cause Tony to go on the defensive. "Anything you can share with me?"

Tony sighed. "No. Just… Just go back to bed."

"You know…" he said, then paused. He didn't want to push too hard, but he couldn't let this go, either. "If you're hurting, or if you're not feeling—"

"Oh my God," Tony snapped. "I am _fine._ I'm fine. I just can't sleep, okay? Would you let it go?"

Steve resisted the urge to get pissed off in return. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Well don't," Tony said, and he still sounded aggravated. "I'm fine, I'll be fine, there's nothing to worry about, okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, even though it was the last thing he wanted to say right then. He recognized the futility of arguing, though. Especially now. "Come to bed later?"

"Yeah," Tony said, but Steve knew he didn't mean it.

There was nothing he could do though, except lie back down again and close his eyes. And though he lay there all night, Tony never did come to bed.

****

Toward dawn he dozed. He dreamed of the ice, trapped in a terrible immobility he could not break. His eyes were open. The sky above wheeled and turned endlessly as he stared through a hole in the ceiling of the cave where he lay. Occasionally he saw faces he knew peering down at him. He tried to call out to them, to cry that he was still alive, that he was here, could they please help him – but his voice was as frozen as the rest of his body and he could not make even a single sound.

Tony showed up last. He gazed down at Steve through the hole in the ice, his face impassive, his eyes dark and pitiless.

For him, Steve managed the faintest whisper. "Please."

Tony turned away.

And Steve woke up.

****

The sun would not be up for two more hours. The hotel room was still dark. He lay among the twisted bedsheets, breathing heavily, trying to push the dream from his thoughts.

"You all right?" Tony's voice came from across the room. He squinted in the darkness and saw a dark silhouette sitting at the table by the window.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Just a dream."

Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. His breathing evened out; the sweat dried on his forehead. "Have you been up all night?"

"Couldn't sleep," Tony said shortly.

Steve sat up, frowning into the darkness. "Everything okay?"

Tony just sighed. "Pack your stuff. We should get going. It's already snowing in Vail."

"Is it safe to drive?" he asked.

"Should be," Tony said. "But we probably shouldn't push our luck."

"Okay," Steve said. Again, he found himself wishing that they weren't so pressed for time. On any other trip, he wouldn't have minded being snowed in with only Tony for company – in fact, it would have been a lot of fun. Now though, he didn't dare waste a day. It would be just their luck for the arc reactor to fail now, when they were still two days out from Malibu. There was one remaining, of course, tucked safely inside Tony's suitcase, but Steve hoped they would never have to use it.

"Well, then let's get going," he said. "We can stop for breakfast somewhere along the way."

****

West of Denver, the interstate ascended rapidly into the mountains. There was no snow yet, but Steve had the radio tuned to a morning talk show that promised traffic and weather reports every fifteen minutes, so he could know what to expect.

It was still early enough in the year that traffic heading to Vail wasn't too bad. Even Steve had heard of the beautiful ski resorts in the area; once again he found himself wishing that time was not working against them, that he could be doing this for fun.

"Have you ever been skiing?" he asked.

"What?" Tony sounded a bit dazed, like he had been on the verge of sleep.

Steve could have kicked himself for waking him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize you were sleeping."

"I wasn't," Tony said. "What did you say?"

"I just wondered if you had ever been skiing," Steve said.

"Oh," Tony said. He still sounded half-asleep. "Yeah. Um. Not in years, though."

"I'd like to try it sometime," he said. Even in the predawn light, the snow on the mountains was beautiful.

"You should," Tony said. "It's fun."

"Then it's a date," Steve said firmly. "Just you and me and a roaring fire in a little wood cabin."

"Mmm," Tony murmured. "Soundsgood." All one word, slurred together, and Steve finally got the hint and shut up so he could sleep.

****

Up and up they climbed, and the traffic report said there were no problems this morning with the Eisenhower Tunnel, and then there it was. The highest, longest mountain tunnel in America – Steve had read about it in one of the brochures in the hotel. It was an amazing feat of engineering, and it made Steve's chest swell with pride that he lived in a country where such things were possible.

He glanced over at Tony, wanting to share his excitement with someone, and his enthusiasm dissolved into a sudden rush of protective love and affection. Tony had finally fallen asleep, slumped over in his seat, his head bowed low, eyes closed.

At sixty miles an hour, they covered short distances in no time at all. The entrance to the tunnel flashed past overhead, and then they were inside, with nowhere to stop or pull over, nothing to see but blank stone walls, nothing to do but keep going. 

For all its magnificence, the tunnel wasn't even two miles long; it took less than two minutes to traverse the distance. They emerged on the western side, and the Rocky Mountains were spread out before them.

The day dawned dull and gray. The majestic beauty of the mountains more than made up for the lack of any sunrise, though. An occasional snow flurry struck the windshield, only to melt on contact. The radio talk show's weather report promised light snow around Vail and points west, but nothing serious enough to close the interstate.

They had just passed a sign indicating that they were approaching the Vail Pass rest area when Tony gasped and jerked awake.

Suspecting a nightmare, Steve said quietly, "It's all right. I'm here."

Tony stared blankly out the window, then he began to cough. He bent over, one hand pressed to his chest.

Sudden fear spiked in Steve's heart. Without a second thought, he turned the radio off and changed lanes so they could get off at the rest area if necessary. "Tony? You okay?"

Tony stopped coughing. He sat up, but kept his eyes closed. He shook his head, and Steve saw the lines of pain on his face, the way his eyes were tightly shut. In the stillness left behind by the silenced radio, the sound of his labored breathing was very loud.

In the space of a single heartbeat, time rolled back. Suddenly he was in the Aston Martin all over again, frantically trying to reach the Avengers Tower while Tony sat dying beside him. "Oh my God," he whispered.

"Tony?" He reached out and touched Tony's cheek, testing for the heat of fever.

"Wha?" Tony lolled his head back from Steve's hand. He groaned thickly. "Are we there yet?"

"Tony, what's wrong?" Fear and dread knotted in his gut, chilling him from the inside out. "Talk to me! What's going on? Is the arc reactor failing?" And then the exit was there, and he had to put both hands on the wheel, easing the car onto the exit ramp.

"No," Tony sighed. " 's nothing. I'm fine." He coughed again.

In the morning light, half-hidden beneath a thick sweater and a coat, the glow of the arc reactor was impossible to see. There was no way to know if it was failing, or if it was already ominously dark. Steve accelerated through the traffic light at the end of the exit ramp just as it turned red, and sped down the access road leading to the rest area. "Hold on," he urged. "Just hold on."

"Stop," Tony said wearily. "Steve, stop. It's fine. I'm fine."

The rest area was an enormous circular shape. He pulled the car into the first spot he found and slammed it into park. Before he could do more than reach out, though, Tony had his door open and was staggering outside. As Steve watched, horrified, Tony reeled to his left, struck the side door mirror, and sagged to his knees.

He scrabbled at the seat belt and flung open his door. He ran around the car so rapidly he could swear his feet never touched the ground. Fast as he was, though, by the time he reached Tony's side, Tony was already trying to stand. He had lifted one hand to his head, the heel of his palm pressing on a spot just above his right eye. The other was still held against his chest.

Terror exploded in him at the sight of Tony clutching his chest like that. "What is it?" he cried. He put an arm around Tony's shoulders and helped him stand. "What's wrong? Is it the arc reactor?"

"No," Tony said. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. He swayed against Steve's supportive arm, then righted himself. His breathing was quick and shallow, almost gasping. "I'm fine. It's nothing."

"Tony," Steve began.

"But I think…" And Tony squinted up at him with a pained smile. "I think you better…get me off this mountain as quick as you can."

"What?" He was bewildered and nearly frantic with fear. Stupidly all he could think of was that damn tunnel, they never should have gone through that tunnel. "Why? What is it? I don't understand."

Tony gave up trying to stand on his own and leaned against Steve's arm, fighting for breath, his eyes unfocused. "It's the altitude," he sighed. "I can't… Steve…" He made a harsh grating sound that took Steve a moment to recognize as a laugh. "I never told you. Yinsen…when he…." The hand at his chest thumped lightly against the arc reactor. "He did what he could, but…it's just too big." He gave Steve an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought… My lungs… I can't…"

Horrorstruck, Steve could only stare at him. He had read about altitude sickness in the hotel's brochures, but he had dismissed it. He had thought such a concern was only for mountain climbers and the like. It had never occurred to him that Tony would have issues with the thinner air up here, now that he had such a diminished lung capacity.

"And not to…freak you out," Tony said, "but I really think…you should hurry. Because this," and again he thumped on his chest, "is gonna fail real soon."


	10. Chapter 10

"What do I do?" Steve cried. "Tony, what do I do?" and if Tony had had the breath for it, he would have laughed. Because it really was funny, in a terrible sort of way. He had faced down terrorists and aliens and megalomaniacal gods and lived to tell the tale. And now he had been brought low by a mere 10% difference in arterial oxygen transport.

Or that was how JARVIS had explained it, at any rate. All he knew was that it felt like he was drowning. He couldn't catch his breath, his head was throbbing, and his heart rate had gone all kinds of crazy irregular, above and beyond its usual irregular pulse. Another few hours of this and he was going to be begging Steve to just chuck him over the side of the mountain.

He waited for Steve to ask why he hadn't said anything, why he had kept it secret, but Steve did not ask. Steve just looked down at him with such worry and fear that he couldn't bear to see it anymore, and he closed his eyes.

The truth was, he _hadn't_ known. Not for sure, anyway. Right around the time Steve had kept them heading west on I-70 through St. Louis instead of heading southwest on I-44, he had finally nailed down their route. Certainly on the map it was the simplest: follow I-70 west until it ended in Utah, then I-15 straight down to Los Angeles and ultimately, Malibu.

He had looked at those mountains on the map, and he had wondered. Had talked to JARVIS about it. In the end he had decided that while it would not be pleasant, he would survive. He had even thought he could hide it from Steve, that Steve would never know what those two days in the mountains had done to him.

Last night, he had realized his mistake. They were still an hour below Denver when his headache had begun. He had not needed the reminder from JARVIS that it was far too soon for symptoms of altitude sickness to begin manifesting; the fact that they were was not a good omen. The loss of appetite and insomnia had just been the icing on the cake.

He should have spoken up. He knew that. But he had not been able to bear the thought of delaying their arrival in Malibu. All he wanted was this trip to be over with, to be back where he belonged, working again. He was so tired of feeling like he had a "Handle With Care" sign hanging over his head. To turn around and head east and then south was to add at least another three days onto the journey – and Tony could not endure that. 

"Tony…"

 _I'm sorry_ , he had said, and he really was. He had never wanted it to come to this. And he supposed, in the end, that was _really_ why he had stayed silent. Because he was tired of his heart and the arc reactor being the center of his life, the ultimate reason behind his choices, the motivation behind his decisions. For once, just for once, he had wanted to be the old Tony Stark again, who did something because he wanted to do it, damnit, no other reason. Because he had wanted to make it over the mountains like he was a normal man again, young and strong and healthy.

The irony alone was enough to kill him.

"Nothing," he said, because yeah, Steve had asked him a question. "There's nothing you can do. Just get me down. Quickly."

Steve gulped and nodded, blue eyes wide with fear. "We can turn around…"

"No," Tony said. "We keep going." They had already made it through the worst part; the Eisenhower Tunnel was the highest elevation on the interstate system. Literally speaking, it was all downhill from here. "Just…just drive fast."

Steve laughed; it sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Have you seen these roads?"

Yeah, it was stupid. "I know," he said. "Just…do the best you can."

Steve nodded again. "All right. We'll, um…" A sudden thought struck him. Tony could practically see the light bulb pop into existence over his head. "What about oxygen? There have to be people who need it. This probably happens all the time. We can—"

"I don't think they sell oxygen in the vending machines," he snapped. "And anyway, I don't need it." And please God let that be true. Let this be the worst of it. He was so tired of being treated like an invalid, so tired of feeling ill and rundown and just plain old.

Steve was looking at him with those wounded puppy dog eyes, still so afraid and concerned, and God he hated that, he _hated_ it, hated being the one responsible for putting that look on Steve's face. He opened his mouth to say something and Steve blurted, "This is all my fault."

"What?" And Tony knew he was light-headed but still, that made no sense at all.

"I should have known," Steve said. "I didn't even think. I'm sorry, Tony. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, hearing Steve's guilt. "It's not your fault," he said. "It's mine. I should've…told you." And he probably would have, if they had been making this trip, God forbid, for fun. He would have spoken up the instant he realized their route, and made sure the plan was changed. It was his own stupid stubborn pride that had got him into this mess, that and his ego, more damaged than his heart, wanting so desperately to be a person he could no longer be.

"Or, you know, if we're going to be…creative, we can blame Yinsen." And this was really not good, this shortness of breath when he wasn't doing anything more strenuous than standing up. "But we have to go, Steve. We have to go… _now._ "

Steve didn't look convinced, but at least he dropped it, which was something. "Can you eat? _Should_ you eat?"

"No," Tony said. "And I don't know. And…no. Let's just go."

"Okay. Okay." Steve opened the passenger side door for him. "Or do you want to lay down in the back?"

With an effort, Tony bit back the angry retort that immediately sprang to his lips. He just got inside the car, sat down, and reached for his seat belt.

Steve took the hint. He closed the door, then hurried around the car. But instead of getting in, he stopped at the trunk and opened it. He fussed with their luggage for a while, and Tony just sat there and tried – and failed – to take a deep breath.

The trunk slammed shut, and then Steve was there, sliding in behind the wheel. He held out a small box that Tony recognized right away. "Just in case."

"Good idea," he said. He took the box containing the last arc reactor and let it tumble out of his hands and onto the floor by his feet. He didn't want to look at it.

Thankfully Steve did not chide him for his childish reaction, because he didn't have the breath for an argument just then. Steve just started the car, fussed with the heater for an inordinately long time, then backed out of their parking space. "Listen," he said. "I can call SHIELD. Clint can come out with the Quinjet. They'll fly us down. I know—"

"The fuck you will," Tony retorted. Which was probably harsher than it needed to be, but damnit he was not going to be babied. "You just keep driving. Quickly."

They got back on the interstate – heading west, Tony noted with approval. He suppressed the urge to cough and said, "We're staying in Richfield tonight…am I right?"

Steve started with surprise. "Yes. How did you know that?"

Like he hadn't worked on puzzling out their route starting on the second day, once he had realized how many miles Steve was willing to go each day. In the beginning the possibilities had been more numerous, but after it became clear that they were going to ride I-70 to the bitter end, there had been only one possible destination for their final stop. And he kind of hated himself for this, for revealing that he had known all along where they were going to stop each night, instead of letting it be a surprise. But honestly, Steve should have known that he would unravel it for himself.

"Just get us there," he said. "Okay?"

Steve reached out and touched his arm, gave it a firm squeeze. "I will. You just hold on, okay?"

"Oh," Tony sighed. "I'm holding."

****

Two hours later and he was still holding.

 _You must learn how to breathe all over again,_ Yinsen had said. _How to walk. How to speak. You have remade yourself, and now you must learn who you are._

_I don't think that's such a great idea._

_Why is that?_

_Because I didn't like who I was before, and I'm pretty damn sure I'm not going to like this guy either._

_Then you have a problem, Tony Stark._

He could still remember the calm expression on Yinsen's face. The way he polished his glasses, like he was about to go listen to a lecture on integrated circuits. The patience in his smile. The gentle dignity he always had wrapped about him, as though the dirt and privation of the cave could not touch him.

Yinsen had been right about so many things – okay, pretty much everything – but this was the one Tony kept thinking about now. _You must learn how to breathe all over again._

None of them ever asked, no one ever wondered what it was like to go through life with a big chunk of metal buried in your chest. No one ever asked how it was even physically possible, or questioned how much bone and muscle had to be removed in order to make it work. No one ever asked what it felt like to never be able to take a deep breath, the kind where your chest swelled and your lungs filled to bursting with good, clean air.

It was probably just as well. No one would have wanted to hear the answers, either.

So he sat there, very still, and he tried to relearn how to breathe. It was difficult to do; the air was so much thinner up here. The throbbing headache that had been with him since yesterday afternoon was not letting up, and even sitting still he felt dizzy and light-headed. 

Worse, though, was the fear. The terrible fear of not getting enough air, of drowning. It would only be a matter of time before he started tasting cold water in the back of his throat, and when that happened, he could pretty much guarantee the resulting panic attack would suffocate him for good.

"Talk to me," he said. That would help. The rocky canyon walls lining the highway were bad, too reminiscent of the cave, but the snow was good. It had been bitterly cold in the cave at times, but at least it had never snowed. Hearing Steve's voice, a comforting familiar voice speaking English, would be even better.

And Steve, God bless him, did not even hesitate. "Did I ever tell you about the time Bucky and I went behind enemy lines to sabotage their fuel depot?"

In fact he had – several times – but Tony was certainly not about to say that. "I'm all ears," he said.

Steve began telling his story, taking his time, embellishing it with great detail.

Tony sat very still and listened, and stared at the falling snow, and tried to remember how to breathe.

****

They stopped in a town Tony didn't know the name of so Steve could gas up the car. Afterward Steve helped him hobble to the restroom, and even the fact that the place was virtually deserted, so that no one but the attendant saw them, made it any less humiliating. But the ugly truth was that without Steve's guiding arm at his back, he was too dizzy to walk a straight line on his own, and too out of breath to make it without stopping halfway there.

When they got back in the car, he turned his face toward the window and shut his eyes. Even as a young child he had never really believed in the whole you-can't-see-me-if-I-can't-see-you thing, but it made him feel better to pretend that his shame hadn't happened now that he could not look Steve in the eye.

"Hang in there," Steve said as they pulled back onto the interstate.

Tony said nothing.

****

Half an hour later, he felt the first jolt of pain in his chest, and he knew the moment he had been dreading for days had finally come.

He gasped and arched up off the seat, the reaction completely involuntary in response to the pain and shock. There was no disguising it, no way for it to be anything other than what it was.

"Oh God," Steve said, and instantly began looking around, trying to find a place to pull the car over.

Tony leaned down for the box containing the last arc reactor and _damnit_ what the hell had he been thinking to drop it like that, and searing pain stabbed his chest. He clutched at the arc reactor and sort of sagged forward until his forehead came to rest on the dashboard, which was no good, no good at all, because he still hadn't grabbed the box and now he could barely breathe.

"Hold on," Steve urged. The car sped up and that was wrong, it was wrong, what the fuck they were supposed to be stopping not speeding up. "Hold on, Tony, just hold on."

His scrabbling fingers found the smooth plastic of the box holding the arc reactor. He grabbed it, fumbled and dropped it _(Damnit!)_ , then got it again.

Clutching his prize, he sat up. He could hear Steve saying something finding about a place to pull over, just hold on Tony hold on. Pain ripped through his chest, and over Steve's increasingly panicked babbling he could hear the beached-whale sounds he was making, gasping for what little air his lungs could pull in.

Steve was stuck behind the wheel, forced by circumstance to keep driving and it wasn't really like he could do anything anyway. And like the ghost of Christmas past, Tony suddenly heard, _Christ, do I have to do_ everything _by myself?_ Wisp of a memory. Himself, twenty-two, cocky, half-drunk, pristine business suit. Standing in R &D Lab 6 at Stark Industries. Men and women twice his age, three times his age, eyes lowered, chastised for their stupidity by their king. Grabbing a chair, commandeering a computer. Raising his voice in a how-to lecture. Building a better mousetrap. Or assault rifle. You know, whatever.

He didn't even need to look by now, muscle memory taking over. He reached under his sweater, pulled out the dead reactor, and slammed the new one home. It took all of four seconds – and in those four seconds, the shrapnel in his heart moved just the tiniest bit closer to its ultimate goal of killing him.

The car came to a sudden halt – he hadn't even noticed that they were slowing down or pulling over. He just sat there and waited for the pain in his chest to ease, for breathing to become simpler, for his pulse to return to normal human rates.

The first one happened. (Steve was touching him, _tony oh my god are you okay?_ ) The second two did not. And with sinking fear, he realized that they were not _going_ to happen. Because there was _no fucking air_ up here, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, and the fear and the lack of oxygen was keeping his heart rate at dangerously high levels and oh my God Steve needed to shut up, shut up _now._

He slapped at the door handle. Opened the door. Closed it. Stepped out into the chill mountain morning. The cold was like a smack in the face. He fell back against the car, both hands pressed to his chest, trying to will his lungs into working right. Snow flurries danced and circled in front of his eyes, carried along on a frigid wind.

All that wind – and he couldn't breathe it in.

Steve stepped into view, his edges blurred, but Tony didn't know if that was from the snow or because the entire _world_ was starting to fuzz out. He could see Steve's mouth moving, and Steve's blue eyes filled with alarm, but the words were just noise lost on the same wind that was intent on killing him.

Slowly he slid down the side of the car. The ground was cold beneath him but he barely registered it. His hands were cold, too.

Steve moved away. He had his phone out and was yelling into it. _"…you'll have to do it,"_ and then the wind snatched the rest of the words away and good riddance because it wasn't like he was saying anything useful anyway.

 _I'm sorry,_ Tony wanted to say. And he really was.

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears now and he still couldn't breathe and the fear was eating him up from inside. The world tilted around him, and then he was suddenly on his feet again, Steve holding him up easily with one hand.

 _I'm sorry,_ he wanted to say, but that wasn't right either, because what he really wanted to say was _I love you._ One last time. It wasn't right, it wasn't _fair_ , damnit, that he was going to die without getting to say those words one last time.

Cold encased him from head to toe. He suddenly couldn't move and the fear threatened to become total panic. He saw Steve's eyes, blue and worried and full of desperate hope – then the mask slid down and he blinked in shock as blue lines and numbers replaced the mountains. Alarmed, he reached up, trying to bat them away.

"I have assumed control of the suit, sir. Please do not struggle," JARVIS said.

 _What the hell…?_ Tony thought.

And then he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks and much love to RoAnshi. This chapter would never have been finished without her encouragement and feedback.

It took a mere four minutes for the call to come in. Steve hooked the phone over his ear and answered breathlessly. "JARVIS."

"He is safe," said JARVIS.

Every fiber in Steve's body went limp with relief. For the first time since realizing that the arc reactor had died, it felt like he could breathe – an irony that was not lost on him. He sagged against the car and let his shoulders slump. "Did you make it all the way to Malibu?"

"No," JARVIS replied. "I did not deem that to be safe. My intent was only to bring Mr. Stark to a lower elevation so his condition could stabilize."

"And is it?" he asked anxiously. "Stabilized?"

"That is still an ongoing process," JARVIS said. "But I can report that Mr. Stark's vital signs are already greatly improved. In addition, he is currently berating me for my actions, calling them impulsive and reckless."

Surprising himself, Steve burst out laughing. It sounded too high-pitched and jagged, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He was just so relieved that Tony was all right. "Impulsive and reckless?" That pretty much described _all_ of Tony's behavior, but it was hardly fair to point that out right now. "Tell him it was my idea to use the suit. I left it up to you how far you could go."

"I have already done that," JARVIS responded.

Relief and gratitude mingled within him and he was still making that crazy giggling sound, and oh God this had been the closest call yet; fear was still coursing through his veins, slow to depart even in the wake of good news. But the sound of that dry English humor helped ground him, and he supposed he understood now why Tony loved JARVIS so much.

"I am connecting you," JARVIS said, and then Tony's voice was in his ear, still breathless but definitely stronger now. "What the _fuck_ did you just do to me?"

Steve laughed and laughed. Not hysterical anymore, just filled with joy. He had never been so happy to have Tony pissed off at him.

"Why are you laughing? You're not supposed to be laughing at me," Tony grumbled. "And by the way, are you still standing there like an idiot on the side of the road?"

"Maybe," Steve said, grinning from ear to ear. He felt so light-hearted with relief and happiness that he half-thought that he could fly down the mountain on wings made of pure emotion.

"Well, stop," Tony said. "You need to be in that car, on your way down here. 'Here' being, I'm told, the wonderful town of Glendale, Nevada."

Steve's heart sank, eroding a lot of his good mood. He would not see Tony until late tonight at the very earliest. Until then Tony was on his own, stuck in the suit and still recovering from this latest brush with death. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know what else to do. Your lips were turning blue."

"Not saying you made the wrong call," Tony said. "And did you seriously just apologize for saving my life? 'Cause that's just all kinds of wrong."

Steve pushed himself off the car and started moving again. "Are you okay now?" He got behind the wheel and started the engine. It was still snowing, but the interstate looked fine, no ice visible.

"Sure," Tony said, light and easy, like nothing had happened, like he had not been suffocating to death barely fifteen minutes ago. "By the time you get here I'll be ready to go ten rounds with Thor."

Steve smiled as he pulled back onto the highway. "Well, that's good to know."

"So I guess I'll just chill out here," Tony said. There was an almost uncertain note to his voice, though, like he was not looking forward to it.

"Will you be all right?" Steve asked.

"Oh sure," Tony said. "I'll find some lonely, hot blonde to take me in and feed me. I'll be so grateful to her that I'll agree to be her kept boytoy, and you may have to fight her to the death in order to reclaim me, but hey, it'll give you something to look forward to, right?"

His casual outlook to the very real practical problems he was facing made Steve's hands clench on the steering wheel. He hated that they had become separated, especially when Tony was still far too physically vulnerable. The hours between now and their reunion stretched out before him, achingly long and lonely.

He couldn't regret what he had done, though. Tony had been dying by slow inches right in front of him, and there hadn't been a thing he could do about it. The only solution was to get him off the mountain, and there had only been one way to accomplish that. A quick conference with JARVIS had assured him that a short flight would be possible – although strongly not recommended.

It had taken all of two seconds for Steve to make the call. Better to take the chance that this arc reactor, the last one, would fail, then do nothing at all and watch Tony die for certain. At least this way Tony had a chance. He had given the command to JARVIS, spoken the override code he had always prayed he would never have to use, then stood back and watched as the armor enfolded Tony and flew away.

It had proven to be the right decision, but he shuddered now to think of what might have gone wrong, of what he would have done if JARVIS had called him to say that Tony had died anyway.

"Don't think about it," he said out loud, trying to forcibly pull his thoughts away from such a morbid subject.

No, he would only think of Tony now, somewhere in a town called Glendale, probably already at the center of attention as people saw Iron Man strolling casually down the street. Tony would live it up, play it off like nothing, soak up the attention and happily accept whatever gifts people would press on him. Steve had no doubt that by the time he arrived, Tony would have eaten a meal on the house at the best restaurant in town and settled into a room at the best hotel Glendale had to offer. That was all just part of Tony's charm – and a testament to how much everyone loved him now after his heroic actions in Stamford.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm back on the interstate."

"Good," Tony said. He paused. "Get here fast…but stay safe."

Such sound advice was not normal for Tony, and Steve knew it for what it really was. "I will," he promised.

"Oh, I've been spotted," Tony said. "Well, that took long enough. I'll call you later. I'm sure someone here must have a Starkphone I can 'borrow.'"

Steve smiled. "Only if you promise to upgrade it for them."

Tony laughed. "Nothing's free in this world, right?" In the next breath he added, "All right, J, we're up."

"I love you," Steve said.

"Right back atcha," Tony said, and Steve could hear the wide grin in his voice, but it was fainter now with more background noise, and he knew the faceplate had slid up. From far off, he heard an exclamation. Wherever Tony was, someone had just gotten the surprise of their life.

The connection went silent.

Steve clamped both hands on the steering wheel and hit the accelerator.

****

A few hours later, Tony called. "Hey."

"Hey," he said. He'd known Tony was fine, of course he had known it…but he still couldn't help slumping with relief to hear his voice again. "How are things going?"

"Good, good," Tony said, and his voice sounded more upbeat and cheerful than Steve had heard in a long time – since before the accident. "Well, besides the fact that I may have inadvertently promised to build my next factory out here… Which reminds me. I need to call Pepper, have her check with Legal. I'm not really sure if a drawing on a napkin constitutes a binding legal agreement, but it's better not to be blindsided by these things down the road."

"A napkin?" Steve laughed a little, trying to imagine the set of circumstances that had led to this.

"I was just, you know, Main Street needs an overhaul, so I was demonstrating…really it's nothing, and oh, hey, I gotta go," Tony said, going from wandering bemusement to crisp businessman in the space of a single sentence. "The mayor's giving a speech and I'm up."

"A speech?" Now it was Steve's turn to be bewildered. "What's going on down there?"

"Ah, nothing, gotta go. Check with you later." And the call ended.

Steve thought about calling JARVIS and demanding to know what was happening in tiny little Glendale, Nevada, then shook his head.

On second thought, he probably didn't want to know.

****

A few hours later his phone rang. He was in Utah by then, the snow and the worst of the mountains behind him. "Tony."

It wasn't Tony. It was Director Fury. "Rogers."

"Sir."

Fury got straight to the point. "Would you mind telling me why Stark has called a press conference in some no-name town in Nevada?"

Steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out. _A press conference?_ Good Lord. A press conference. With just Tony. No one there to rein him in when he started rambling and promising the world. No Pepper, no Rhodey, no Steve. Only Tony and his tendency toward the grandiose.

"And why is it," Fury continued, "that even though I have every agent in this office looking at the footage, none of us have been able to spot you in it? Even lurking nobly in the background?"

"Um," Steve evaded. "It's…it's Tony's show. I don't really have any part in it."

A press conference… What the hell was Tony doing? What was he talking about? Was he following through on his promise to the people of Glendale, telling the world that his next factory would be located there? Surely not. That kind of news did not warrant calling for a press conference, not even in the rarefied world Tony Stark lived in.

"Need I remind you that speaking to the press does not constitute laying low?" Fury grated out.

"Tony is perfectly capable of making his own decisions," Steve said.

"Yeah, stupid-ass decisions!" Fury exclaimed hotly.

"If you say so, sir," Steve said blandly. Although…Fury did have a point. A very good, very valid point.

Fury blustered some more, but there wasn't really much he could say. The press conference was already a fact – nothing could stop it now, not even the very frustrated head of SHIELD. "When this is over, I want to speak to him," Fury said. "That is not a request, Captain."

"Yes, sir," Steve said.

He put the phone down and sighed. "What are you doing, Tony?" he asked into the silence.

****

An hour later he was on the phone again. 

"You know," Tony said, the smile evident in his voice, "Glendale isn't too far from Vegas."

Steve gripped the wheel tightly. "Tony, don't you dare!"

Tony laughed. "What, you afraid I'll gamble SI away on a single roll of the dice?"

Actually he did worry about that sort of thing, but he knew better than to say so.

"Don't worry," Tony said. "Been there, done that, won it back again. Besides, I grew out of that phase when I was twenty."

There was really nothing Steve could say to that. Instead he said, "It's going to be late enough when I get to Glendale. I don't want to add to that."

"Yeah," Tony said, and Steve could hear that he wasn't smiling anymore. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. I was only kidding anyway. I'll be here." He gave the name of his hotel and the room number. "What time do you think you'll get here?"

Steve hesitated. He had been forced to go slow through the Colorado mountains due to the twisty roads and the snow, but he had been able to make up some of that time in Utah. Still, it would be late when he arrived – and that was if he stopped only for gas and nothing else. "Midnight," he said, and hoped that was right.

"Okay," Tony said. "I'll see you then."

"Wait," Steve said. "Tell me about this press conference."

But Tony had already hung up.

****

The highway headed southwest, and so did Steve. He was descending rapidly now, leaving the Rocky Mountains behind.

He shifted restlessly in his seat. He could not get comfortable. He cracked the window a little to let some fresh air in, then got too cold and had to close it again. He turned the radio on, but he didn't like any of the songs and the relentlessly cheerful chatter of the DJs just got on his nerves, so he turned it off after less than fifteen minutes.

That cheery radio talk made him think of his earlier phone call with Tony. Not the last one, with that rather ominous mention of Vegas, but the one before. The one where Tony had sounded genuinely happy. He hadn't heard Tony sound like that since before the accident. 

He didn't want to admit it, but the truth was, this whole trip Tony had been a mere shadow of his former self.

Until today.

 _A shadow. That's exactly it,_ Steve thought. _He's out from under my shadow._

It was not a pleasant thought.

Unpleasant though it was, he knew it to be true. Alone with nothing but his thoughts, he had plenty of time to recall the events of the past week, and he knew that he was right. Getting away from him, going out there alone among total strangers in a new and unknown place, was the best thing that had happened to Tony Stark since that night under the stars.

Out from under Steve's shadow.

He was suddenly, painfully reminded of something Tony had said to him once. This had been before Stamford, on that terrible day when they had broken up. Tony had been trying to make him understand why he had supported the idea of superhero registration, talking about how even superheroes were not infallible. "Everyone feels inadequate next to you," he had said. "God knows I always have." He had backpedaled rapidly and brushed the comment aside, but Steve had never forgotten it.

One of his "conditions" for getting back together after Stamford was for Tony to at least try to stop thinking he was inadequate in any way, or undeserving of Steve's love. He couldn't be completely certain, of course, but he was pretty confident that Tony had made some progress on this score. Since then he had not seen anything to indicate that Tony still thought he was somehow less than Steve.

But that was when life was normal. This past week had been anything _but_ normal. Tony was still recovering from the shooting, physically weakened and in pain. He had not complained much (always a sure sign that he was genuinely in distress), but Steve knew he hated feeling that way. And he remembered too what Tony had said in Indiana: _If it had been you, you'd already be back out there kicking supervillain ass and taking names._

It was no wonder Tony was glad to get away from him. Perfect Captain America – nothing stopped him or even slowed him down for long. _Everyone feels inadequate next to you._ And here was Tony, weak and wounded and already too quick to believe the worst of himself – even when he was feeling healthy.

"And I haven't been helping," he sighed. "I've only been making it worse." He had been suffocatingly overprotective ever since the accident. Even at the hospital he had smothered Tony with his constant presence. He didn't regret what had happened in Indiana – Tony had needed to be treated gently that night – but the rest of the time? He had been doing Tony a grave disservice.

He needed to back off. As hard as it would be, he had to let go. He had to remember that Tony could take care of himself – and trust that he would know when it was okay to step in on those infrequent times when his help really _was_ needed. He had to forget his terror of losing Tony, of watching him grow old and die. He had to stop clinging so tightly to what he had now that he put the future in jeopardy.

Before they had driven away from the Avengers Tower, Thor had taken him aside and spoken to him. "I fear I have done you wrong," the thunder god had said. "I did not mean to fill your head with thoughts of immortality and isolation. Please believe that was never my intention."

He had assured Thor that he knew this, that he was not angry. Which was true. He had never blamed Thor for opening his eyes; he had blamed himself for not seeing it sooner, on his own.

The cold hard truth was that Tony would die before he did. That was inescapable. What mattered was how he handled things now. If he let things go on as they had been, he would lose Tony long before death claimed him. He would do it to himself, through his own thoughtless behavior.

And though Thor had admitted that he sometimes thought about ending his relationship with Jane in order to spare himself the anguish of losing her later, Steve had never really considered that option for himself. He had already suffered the pain of knowing that Tony was not a part of his life anymore, while having to pretend that he was fine, that everything was fine, and nothing had changed. He knew he could not do it again.

No, he was in this until the bitter end – whenever that may be.

****

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when he parked at the hotel where Tony was staying. He nodded at the man behind the front desk, then fumbled to press the elevator button with both hands full of their luggage. He knew the man at the desk had recognized him, but fortunately nothing was said.

Tony's room was on the top floor of the hotel. It was quiet in the hall, and Steve knocked lightly, not wanting to disturb anyone else who might be staying here.

He heard footsteps approach. After a slight pause, the door opened and Tony was there, smiling at him. "Took you long enough."

Steve just stood there for a moment, looking at him. Tony's hair was still damp from a shower, and he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that said, "Iron Man Rules" in a screamingly loud font. The shirt was at least a size too large, and the picture on the front, of Iron Man in full battle mode, was printed in brilliant reds and yellows that hurt the eyes. 

He realized he was staring, and he walked inside. "Very classy," he said, nodding toward the T-shirt.

"Yeah, it's not exactly official merchandise, but still, not bad for all that," Tony said with a shrug.

He looked tired, Steve thought, but not run down. Like he had had a good day, busy but satisfying. Even the tiredness seemed to fit him well, better than the tacky T-shirt did. "Did you talk to Fury yet?"

Tony made a face. "No."

Steve just nodded, having expected that answer. "Am I allowed to ask?"

"And ruin the surprise?" Tony said with a humorless smile.

Steve said nothing.

"Look, it had to be done," Tony said. "In fact, I should have done it before we even left New York. They were all dying to know. So I gave them what they wanted. Told them that I had no grudges against Mr. Taylor, that I was doing perfectly fine, and that there were no hard feelings. Also, that I might be opening a new factory here, but that was still undecided." He grinned, the hard, tight smile that was the Tony Stark version of saying _fuck off_ to the latest person to shove a microphone in his face. "Anything else you wanted to know?"

"I'm not judging," Steve said. Tony did have a point – the media had indeed been all over the story of the accidental shooting, wondering what the fallout would be and just how much the inevitable lawsuit would be for. "Did you talk to him yourself?"

"Ah, no," Tony said. "It kinda happened so fast, there wasn't time for that. But Pepper's arranging it, after we get back to New York."

"He's probably scared to death," Steve said mildly.

Tony just shrugged, apparently having no sympathy for the man who had nearly killed him.

Silence fell between them, strange and awkward, and it struck Steve suddenly that despite the terror of the morning and their long separation today, neither he nor Tony had made any move toward the other person. No kiss of reunion, no hug, not even a pat on the arm.

"I'm just gonna…" He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. Without waiting for Tony's answer, he went inside and shut the door behind him.

His heart was pounding; he could feel each terrible beat in his chest. It felt like that day in the Tower all over again, that day Tony had said, _Everyone feels inadequate next to you._ That day he had said, _So I'm ending this, before we just hurt each other even more._

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked the same as he ever did, blond hair falling perfectly over his forehead, perfect blue eyes, perfect strong jaw. There was no hint of fear or tension on his face. And why should there be? Knots in his stomach and a racing heart had no outward signs that gave himself away.

Something was happening. He didn't understand it, but there was no mistaking the tension in the air. Something indefinable lay between them now, and he was terrified of learning what it was.

But he could not hide in here forever. He used the bathroom, washed his hands and face, dried himself off, and squared his shoulders. He could do this. He had to do this.

He went back out into the bedroom. Tony was standing next to the bed, holding the remote control. He was flipping through the channels, but his gaze was unfocused; he wasn't actually seeing anything on the TV. When Steve came out, he turned the TV off and tossed the remote onto the bed.

Then, before Steve could even open his mouth to speak, Tony said, "I'm sorry, okay? I really am." 

Stunned speechless, Steve just stared. He had no idea what Tony was apologizing for. At first all he could think about was the press conference, which didn't make much sense. Until he saw the utter misery on Tony's face – and the same fear he himself was feeling. And then suddenly everything became very clear.

"I know I should have told you, I know," Tony said. He spoke rapidly, not quite at babbling speed, but getting there. "I just, I didn't think, honest to God, Steve, I didn't think it would be that bad, I really didn't. I even thought I could get away with you not knowing at all. I know I was being stupid, I just, I'm so…I'm so _tired_ of this damn thing –" he tapped the glowing light in his chest – "ruling my life. I just wanted to forget about it for once, and act like a normal person." He made a bitter scoffing noise of such disgust that Steve was shocked into remembering all over again just how much Tony hated himself. "I know better now. I won't do anything like that to you again, I promise."

Tony stopped and stared at him anxiously. And despite the gravity of the moment, Steve had to work hard to keep from smiling. He had relaxed completely the moment he understood the source of the tension between them. He had been so worried that Tony had decided he was better off without Steve overshadowing him – and all along Tony had been afraid he would be angry with him for not saying anything about how the trip through the mountains would affect his health.

"You are stupid," he said gently – and realized his mistake right away when Tony flinched minutely. But he had started it, so he had to finish. "If you think I didn't already know those things." Of course he knew. He had had hours of solitude in the car to think about what had happened, and why Tony had remained silent over such a vital issue. "I know why you didn't say anything. And I'm not mad. Believe me, I understand. If it had been me, before the serum, I wouldn't have said anything either."

Tony frowned a little, considering this. "You're Mr. Perfect. You wouldn't have lied, even through omission."

"To keep from worrying someone I loved?" Steve countered. "You bet I would have." How many times had he rebounded to his feet after getting his ass kicked by someone twice his size, pretending that he wasn't hurt, just so Bucky wouldn't worry about him?

"Steve…" Tony seemed at a loss for words, which was so unusual for him that Steve did not hesitate to press his advantage.

"And anyway," he said, "I should have known what the high altitudes would do to you. So it's as much my fault as it is yours. And I know you're not angry with me, so you should just accept that I'm not angry with you, okay?" Now he did smile, to prove that he was okay. 

And then, because it seemed like Tony needed further proof, he closed the distance between them and he took Tony in his arms.

For a terrible moment Tony stood stiff and trembling in his embrace, then he sighed and accepted it. He even hugged Steve back.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Tony murmured into his neck, "but I'm damn glad I did it."

Steve chuckled. "The feeling's mutual."

Tony stepped back. "I'm serious," he said. "I don't…" He bowed his head a little and lifted both hands to his mouth, steepling his fingers before his lips. It was a gesture Steve had only seen him make before when he was deep in thought, trying to puzzle out something that had even his great mind momentarily stumped.

With a short exhalation of breath, Tony dropped his hands. "Do you know _why_ I took you out that night?"

It was a trick question, obviously, but this time Steve could not begin to guess the correct answer. "So we could watch the meteor shower?"

"No," Tony said. "I mean, yes, but that wasn't the real reason. That was just the excuse."

"Excuse for what?" Steve asked.

"Didn't you wonder why I brought along a bottle of champagne? Seemed a little excessive for watching some shooting stars, don't you think?" Tony said.

Truthfully he hadn't given it much thought. The cooler of champagne had just seemed like a typical Tony Stark idea, taking even something as simple as lying under the stars and turning it into a bigger production than was necessary. "I don't know," he said.

"I was going to…" Tony bit his lip. He shook his head. "I was going to ask you something. Something pretty serious. I wanted to get it just right. But then, nothing I ever plan comes out right."

Steve just looked at him. He had the first stirrings of suspicion then, of what Tony was talking about – and he could scarcely believe it.

"So. No time like the present, right?" Tony smiled a little, the gesture doing nothing to mask the sudden fear in his eyes.

Steve knew then. He knew – and all he could do was nod slowly. 

"I don't want a ring or a ceremony or, God forbid, a media frenzy," Tony said. "I don't want anyone to be anybody's husband." Slowly he lowered himself to one knee. "I just want to be with you. For the rest of my life." He paused, and for the first time during this little speech, he looked uncertain. "If you'll have me."

A rush of emotion surged through him: love and pride and awe and an overwhelming need to protect and cherish. He could not believe that this amazing man would choose him, would want him, would love him like this. He was truly the lucky one then, and the most incredible thing of all was that Tony would never see that.

"Yes," Steve whispered. "God, yes."

Tony smiled up at him, and it was that smile of radiant happiness that lit up his entire face. "That's good. 'Cause I was going to have to kick your ass if you said no."

Steve threw his head back and laughed. He felt almost giddy with joy. He reached out with one hand and pulled Tony to his feet. "I love you so much."

"You may now kiss the bride," Tony said, and proceeded to do just that.


	12. Chapter 12

Tony's house in Malibu was ultra-modern and beautiful, commanded the landscape while remaining isolated from everything around it, and in short, was a perfect summary of the man himself.

Inside, the house was filled with airy, open spaces, nearly obscene luxury, and incredible technology. Steve stood in the center of the main living room and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. He did not miss the signs of past damages done, and wondered if he would ever know what had happened here, and who was responsible for the broken piano, or the gaping hole in the floor.

"Wow," he finally said.

Tony grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve said. Over the months they had been together, he had often imagined this house, but the reality made those pictures in his head crumble to dust. "Tony this is…it's amazing."

"It's yours if you want it," Tony said in that offhand manner that he used when he was in fact being very serious – but trying not to show it.

"What?" Steve was stunned. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Tony said. "This isn't my house anymore. Well, I mean, it is, but it's not my _home._ "

Steve tried hard not to read too deeply into that. Carefully he said, "But you told me once that the Tower wasn't your home."

"Right," Tony said briskly. "Because you were breaking up with me at the time. What did you expect me to say?"

"And now?" he said.

"Home is where the heart is," Tony said. "Or so I've been told."

Steve smiled. "You know, I've heard that one, too."

"Oh, well then it must be true," Tony said.

Steve laughed – but he did not say anything about the house, nor did Tony bring it up again.

****

Tony led him downstairs, into the large garage/lab where he had spent so many years building and inventing.

Steve was used to Tony's many workshops and labs in the Tower, but nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him in that Malibu house. It was one enormous space, filled with everything Tony could ever need. Everything here existed to satisfy his constant drive to build, to create, to invent. One area was lined with classic cars; a few of them were in various stages of repair from what looked like some serious damage. A section of the far wall was scored with a deep cut; even the metal shelves that lined the wall were cut neatly in two. There were computers and workstations scattered throughout the large space. The screens were all blank but the work surfaces were cluttered with the detritus of former projects. Along one wall stood a row of Iron Man suits, each one less advanced than the one before it, ending in a dull gray metal suit that looked more like something a child would put together – or a man trapped in a cave.

"Okay, JARVIS," Tony said. "Let's get this thing fired up."

"This thing" was the particle accelerator – which Tony claimed to have built in a single day. Steve did not disbelieve him. It filled the bulk of the workshop, thick tubing that snaked back and forth and managed to look surprisingly dangerous even when doing nothing but just sitting there. 

"Very good, sir." JARVIS sounded exactly the same as he did in New York. "And may I be the first to say welcome back, sir."

Steve just stared in wonder. The sights were incredible enough, but the most surreal thing of all was hearing that soothing English voice in this place. He finally understood then, just what it meant when he remembered that Tony had lived here for twenty years.

This was where it had all begun. Right here in this room. JARVIS had been born here. Iron Man had come to life here. Tony had become a superhero here.

"Wait, what is it?" Tony asked, almost anxiously.

"What?" Steve said.

"You've got this weird look on your face," Tony said. "Like the honeymoon is over already."

"No, I don't," Steve said. "And you're crazy if you think this is our honeymoon." That earned him a brilliant smile of happiness from Tony, and he smiled back. "I'm just…this is amazing. This is where it all happened." He turned in a slow circle, gazing at the particle collider, the cars, the computers, the projects forever half-finished on workstations that still held old coffee mugs and unused tablets. "This place… We all think the Tower is so great and amazing, and it is, it really is, but here… This place is really you."

Tony looked like he wanted to reply, but didn't know how. He settled for just staring at Steve, a strange look on his face. At last he said, "I forget sometimes. You really mean it when you say things like that."

Steve just shrugged, a little too casual, maybe, but he didn't dare let the true depth of his feelings show. "Of course I do. I wouldn't say them if I didn't mean them."

"You really have no idea how amazing you are, do you?" Tony said. He shook his head.

"Says the amazing Tony Stark," Steve teased.

Tony waved a hand, dismissing his words. "Whatever. Right now the amazing Tony Stark has some work to do. Pull up a chair. If you want. You should probably find some goggles first, though. It's going to get awfully bright in here. Oh, and mind the laser."

****

Tony knew there were times in his life when he had been happier – but at that particular moment he couldn't think of a single one. He felt stronger than he had all week, as though he had somehow managed to actually benefit from the thin mountain air that had nearly killed him. He was back at work, accompanied by loud rock music, JARVIS lending invaluable assistance, a few bots hovering uselessly in the background. Best of all though, he had made his promise to Steve, and received one in return. He had the rest of his life to look forward to – and he meant to start right now.

Creating the element that was at the heart of the arc reactor (no pun intended – well, maybe a little) was routine by now, but there was still something thrilling about it. He had always loved the act of creation, not because it made him feel god-like (it didn't), but because there was something incredibly satisfying about being able to hold an object in his hand and know that it wouldn't even exist were it not for his intervention. As a child he had proudly displayed his new inventions first to his mother, then to the family butler Edwin Jarvis, and even at his age old habits died hard; as the arc reactors were completed and lined up in a pretty little row, he had the craziest urge to hold one up so Steve could _ooh_ and _aah_ over it.

Fortunately, there was no need. Steve reacted appropriately without any encouragement, expressing both awe and admiration over the creation of the element, and the way each arc reactor lit up as it came to life. Despite his best intentions, Tony found himself preening a little. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"More than pretty cool," Steve said. "I still can't believe you put all this together in a day."

"Yeah, well," he said with a shrug. "It's amazing what you can do with the proper motivation." When he had built the particle collider, JARVIS had been providing him with daily estimates of how much longer he had to live; according to the SHIELD file he had hacked much later, those estimates had been overly generous. He hadn't known that at the time, though, which made that one of the few times in his life he was perfectly happy to have operated off faulty data.

"It's amazing what you can do on any day," Steve said. He looked appreciatively around the work area. "I'm surprised you could leave all this behind."

"What, and miss out on Bruce's pancakes and Clint's ability to belch the alphabet?" Tony said. He had achieved a lot today, but his work was far from over. He still needed to repair the damage done to the socket holding the arc reactor. He also wanted to produce another set of arc reactors before leaving here for good, but that was the lowest priority. There were an even dozen of them finished and ready now, which should hold him for quite a while.

"And who doesn't love when Natasha sneaks up behind you and scares the crap out of you by saying something out of the blue?" Steve said with a smile.

"Me," Tony said, pointing at him. He leaned against the particle collider, welding goggles perched on top of his head. "I don't love that. On the other hand, I do love watching her and Thor go to town on the caramel popcorn."

Steve nodded, still smiling. "Definitely."

"And that pesky super soldier," Tony said. "Always leaving his clothes in the laundry hamper like a good little boy. But who somehow always manages to leave toothpaste in the sink. It's a mystery I haven't been able to solve yet."

Steve looked down, that smile still tugging at his lips even though he was trying hard now to look serious. "That's a tough one."

"Tell me about it," Tony said, warming up to his subject. "And then there's the fact that he waits up for me when I'm at work. And would you believe, sometimes he even has the audacity to bring me coffee!"

"Wow, that takes some nerve," Steve murmured.

"You have no idea," Tony said. He pulled the goggles off his head and let them fall carelessly to the floor. Steve looked up at the sound, and Tony began walking toward him. "But what truly gets me is the way he looks at me like I'm the only person in the entire universe."

Steve looked him in the eye. "Like this, you mean?"

Tony's heart skipped a beat – in the good way. The very good way. "Yeah," he said. "Pretty much exactly like that."

Steve took a step toward him, and there was no more space between them now. Just a few inches that didn't really count, due to being so charged with sexual tension. "I can see how that might be really awkward."

"And sometimes," he said, "he even kisses me. Like, what's that all about?"

A slow smile spread across Steve's face. "I can't imagine."

"It's terrible," Tony said. "Worst roommate ever."

"Can I make it up to you?" Steve asked, and put a hand on his hip, preparatory to drawing him in close.

"Well," Tony said, and leaned into that possessive touch, "you could try."

"I can do that," Steve said.

And Tony had to admit, he did give it his all.

****

When the first set of arc reactors was finished (and when their own, more private, business was concluded), Tony set JARVIS and the bots to machining the cases for the next batch. With no reason to stay, they left the workshop and went back upstairs.

Steve was quietly thoughtful. He had seen Tony at work before, of course, but never like this, laboring to produce the very thing that kept him alive, the miracle that was responsible for so much pain and joy in their lives. Watching Tony had been something of a revelation, reminding him all over again how incredible Tony was, so unique in his genius, so extraordinarily gifted. And every bit of him, from that brilliant intellect to the element at the heart of the arc reactor that he literally created with his own hands, belonged to Steve.

It was rather humbling.

Around him, the great house was almost eerily silent except for the endless fall of water in its glass column. Tony stood before the tall windows, staring moodily out at the ocean, a drink forgotten in one hand. When he had dressed again after leaving the workshop, he had discarded the heavy winter fabrics he had worn on the trip out here, and now wore a faded tank top and jeans that rode low on his hips. He didn't even glance up as Steve walked toward him and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Tony shook his head, his gaze still on the Pacific Ocean. "If you want anything, let JARVIS know."

"I'm okay," Steve said. He paused. "Are you?" He had not noticed any hesitation in the way Tony had reached for him downstairs, but he was aware now that something was off, something he needed to uncover. 

Although Tony stirred a little, he still did not look his way. "What? Yeah. Sure. Okay."

Steve was not fooled; he knew perfectly well that Tony had not actually heard him. With practiced ease, he plucked the drink from Tony's hand. He set it down on the counter beside the bar, then returned to stand at Tony's side. "All right. What's going on?"

"I'm thinking," Tony said.

"Uh-oh," Steve said, trying to keep it light. "That's rarely a good thing."

Proving him right, Tony scowled and looked at him. "Are you really sure about all this?"

"About what?" Steve asked – although he had a pretty good idea.

Tony's lips thinned in exasperation. "Steve. I know you're not blind, or stupid."

"That's true," he said, "but I still don't know what you're talking about." Because if they were going to talk about this, then he wanted to make sure they _talked_ about it. No beating around the bush, no whispers, no hints. Just words.

The look in Tony's eyes was equal parts anger and sadness. "I'm old. And only getting older."

"Oh," he said. _Oh._ And also, _oh crap._ Because Tony had known. All this time, Tony had been fully aware of what Steve had needed a Norse god to point out to him. Which made him feel all kinds of stupid - and also a little angry, too. It wasn't right that every time they found happiness together, something came along to ruin it. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, and he hated it.

"Oh?" Now Tony looked more angry than anything. "That's all you can say?"

"Well, yeah," Steve said. "I know. I mean…I know that."

"Oh, well that's good," Tony snapped. "Because the way I figure it, barring any sudden death-by-supervillain, we've got ten good years ahead of us, ten so-so years, and then you're going to want to beat a hasty retreat."

"And your math is never wrong," Steve said, knowing what came next.

"It's not wrong now," Tony said flatly.

And who would have thought it, that at the end of everything, after all those long hours when he had watched Tony sleep and agonized over losing him, it was _Tony_ who was ready to cry off because of the years between them. Steve wasn't sure if he should laugh or what – except that it really wasn't funny. Not one bit.

"Okay," he said. "Say you're right. Which, for the record, I don't think you are. What's your point?"

"What's my point?" Anger sparked again in Tony's eyes. "My point is, you don't want to tie yourself down with someone who's only going to hold you back. You could do so much better than me. You probably should—"

"No," Steve said. " _No._ " He reached out with both hands and took hold of Tony's shoulders – then kissed him. "No."

"But—"

" _No,_ " he repeated, and kissed Tony again.

"Steve—"

"No," he said. "I want you. For as long as I can have you. You asked, and I said yes. And I meant it. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. Not now, not ever. So you might as well get used to it: I'm sticking around."

He leaned in, and this time Tony was the one to kiss him, throwing his arms around him and holding on tight. Steve returned the embrace, reveling in the feel of him, the strength in his arms, the rasp of his beard, the smooth circle of the arc reactor pressed to his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, committing the moment to memory, wanting to remember it always.

They stood together for a long time, then at last Tony lowered his arms and stepped back a little. There was a suspicious shine in his eyes that Steve pretended he did not see – mostly because he was blinking rapidly and trying to hide his own.

"So," he said, doing his best to sound cheerful, "are you going to help me map out our return route?"

Tony looked at him as if he had gone crazy. "Our what?"

Steve grinned. "I thought we could plan _this_ trip together."

"Oh no," Tony said, backing away. "I'm not going anywhere. Not for a while."

He had pretty much expected this, but he had to make sure. "And the Avengers?"

"They'll be fine," Tony said. "Thor is still here. And Reed and his gang can always pitch in if they need to. It'll do them good to leave the lab and get some fresh air for a change."

Steve looked around at the living room, his gaze lingering on the ocean. "How long were you planning to stay?"

"Well, you know, there is another meteor shower starting at the end of December," Tony said with a suggestive smile.

Steve just laughed. "I think that sounds perfect," he said.

*******

 

Epilogue:

 

January 4th, and they were still in Malibu. Lying on the roof of the enormous glass house, looking up at the stars. A gibbous moon hung overhead, lighting up the sky. ("Annoying, really," Tony had said). The sound of the ocean was their constant companion, waves crashing onto the cliffs bordering the house. They had the night to themselves.

"These are the Quadrantids, if you care to know," Tony said. "But no science this time. And definitely no drama. Just the stars."

Steve lay back, his hand entwined with Tony's. Above his head, the first fireball streaked toward the ground.

It was a new year, a future full of promise and hope stretching before him.

As Tony had wanted, there had been no ceremony. They had not exchanged rings or vows or even told anyone. It simply _was._ A state of being held in trust between them. Their lives as intertwined as their hands were.

Another meteor dashed across the sky. Steve smiled. One day – hopefully a long time from now – he would be out here by himself, watching the stars fall. It was inevitable. As painful as it was, though, he was able to accept that fact.

Because he knew that no matter what happened, he would never truly be alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story. WIPs are never fun, and I greatly appreciate all the kudos and comments left along the way.
> 
> I tried to be as accurate as I could when writing the road trip, but if anyone finds any factual errors about the places mentioned in this story, please let me know so I can correct them.
> 
> The two meteor showers mentioned in this story are very real, and the time frames given are accurate for 2012-2013.


End file.
